


the best I can do, is watch over you

by skipper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Brain Damage, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Depressing, Injury Recovery, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Sad, Tissue Warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27701009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skipper/pseuds/skipper
Summary: He glances towards the room at the far end of the corridor, a place he doesn’t dare enter. It looks different, the tiles no longer checkered, the walls now a pale blue, but it holds the moment his entire world shattered. Harry will never forget the doctor’s explanation for it, the drunken driver, slick roads, ultimately nothing he could do. He should feel relief; the doctor spoke the words as though it were possible. They didn’t feel a thing.Harry shakes his head, the same he did that night. The silent tears fell down his cheeks that night and for months following. He never thought about the possibility of death before that night. And there he was, his two best mates gone and the rest barely pieced together, remains left for Harry to bear.The image of Louis’ body, strapped into the hospital bed, is the hardest to remember. But now, Louis pulls on his arm, shaking him off the memory. His laughter resounds, unfamiliar down the empty hall. Harry knows too well that this isn’t the place for it, but Louis doesn’t understand that anymore as Harry looks to him.And just as they told Harry that fateful night, Louis never will again.
Relationships: Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Harry Styles
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a challenge based on a picture prompt. It's sad and depressing, and I'm sorry for doing this to them. But it is what it is.  
> Anyway. It's written in four (possibly six) parts. So here you go.  
> This was the prompt!  
>   
> 

Harry sits in the stiff chair, facing forward, unable to shake his nerves. Every appointment is the same, but the anxiety-ridden hope never falters. He feels the tight press of his chest, his lungs full as he breathes deep. He holds each breath in until his head is swimming and he can’t anymore.

Even with the tight sensation, he releases slowly, the soft wisps of air would tickle his lips if he focuses on it. Instead, Harry listens to the repetitive sound beside him, changing but never different. It echoes through the quiet of the room, lingering until Harry is almost humming the familiar beat.

Louis is restless, his fingers moving steadily, tap to the right knee, two to the right, and then one to the left, two to the right, and he begins again. He doesn’t know he’s doing it and could go on forever if Harry isn’t there to stop him. Harry doesn’t want to but reaches anyway, barely touching Louis’ right wrist, but the response is immediate.

Louis turns his head slightly, his grin sheepish as he realizes he’s done it again. Harry almost smiles at the sight, the old Louis shining through, but the air of the room stops him. He stares past when Louis turns away, his attention diverted, and his feet are tapping now. Louis is impatient, hates having to wait. If his name doesn’t get called in the next few minutes, he’ll start begging for a drink, arguing when Harry will tell him no. Harry sighs, relieved, knowing it’s almost his turn, even if Louis doesn’t.

“Louis,” they turn at the familiar sound of his doctor’s voice. Louis jumps up immediately, stumbling until Harry lifts a hand from his seat, steadying him by his elbow before he’s had the chance to follow.

“Slow down,” he says automatically, moving beside him. The words are fruitless as Louis limps forward, his right side slower than his left. He’s used to the feel, but Harry, he’s not used to the sight, doesn’t think he’ll ever be. His hands are always ready to reach out, to be his solid ground, but Louis won’t let him.

“How are you?” Dr. Robson asks Louis, making direct eye contact. Louis doesn’t respond until the doctor points a finger, almost to Louis’ nose. The movement caused Louis to immediately lift his gaze, meeting the older man’s eyes. Louis slows to a stop after the door to the waiting room shuts, and Harry smiles, knowing he’s waiting for him.

“Right here,” Harry says quietly, but when Louis’ fingers tremble at his side, Harry knows he hasn’t heard. Louis moves faster, his right leg swinging his body in a full turn until he’s facing Harry, his eyes instantly filling with relief.

“Right here,” Harry says louder, meeting Louis’ eyes purposefully. He rests his hands on Louis’ shoulder, nodding encouragingly, and he reaches to adjust the aide behind each ear. He knows Louis messed with the settings again when he wasn’t paying attention, and Harry fights to hold in his annoyance.

“Say my name,” Louis says, resting his hands on Harry’s elbows to steady him. Harry rests his hands on either side of Louis’ neck, smiling at their game, testing that the settings are right.

“Louis,” Harry says quietly, and he can see in his eyes that Louis has heard him.

“Louder,” Louis laughs, his childlike giggle almost endearing. His hands tighten on Harry’s elbow, showing his excitement.

“Louis,” Harry repeats, watching his face fill with his happiness. The game could go on for hours, but Louis is eager to see the doctor. He likes visiting him.

“Okay!” Louis cries out. His arms fly in the air, his usual act of rejoicing, but it throws him off balance, and he tumbles backward onto the floor.

Louis rubs his bum with one hand while he shakes his head and starts laughing. Harry doesn’t match his amusement, hating that rush of fear every time Louis topples. It always strikes his memory, images of when Louis couldn’t get up or even open his eyes. Louis continues to laugh, and Harry doesn’t reach for him until he calms enough to stand.

“Let’s go this way,” the doctor speaks, and Louis is standing again. Louis’ limp is more pronounced now, and any smile Harry might’ve had quickly fades. This time a reminder, the shame, the guilt, the knowledge that he can’t fix him.

As he walks behind Louis, Harry’s gaze immediately goes to the scar, the bare skin glimmering against the light as they turn the corner. After the initial surgery, his hair had started to grow in, covering it, but it was as though it gave up with each following. Now it’s a jagged scar across the left side of his head, permanently swollen from each time following surgery.

Louis glances to ensure Harry’s following, his grin faltering when Harry doesn’t smile. He quickly adds it to calm Louis, but these visits always make it hard to hold up the front. He hates the hospitals, hates what they did to him, to Louis, to Niall, to everyone who was there and watched them fall.

Even though they’re thousands of miles from the one that tore his Louis apart, the feeling never fades. When he chose to take Louis to Maryland, Harry remembers the anger, resentment, and court battles it brought. He walks a little faster, following Louis and his doctor, but stays behind, knowing Dr. Robeson is checking Louis as they talk, looking for signs that he’s worse or better.

Harry’s not sure which he’d rather hear; after almost ten years of fighting, he feels like they’ve finally found a standstill. Louis is the same now, the same he was the year before and maybe even five years ago when Harry still believed in miracles.

Harry feels a sense of relief as they enter the room, watching Louis slide atop the table, knowing it’s good for his hips if he sits for a while. He sinks in the chair by the door as the doctor begins his official exam. He drops his gaze as Louis talks of his upcoming birthday. They’re going home for that, to Doncaster. They’ll see Niall, and his sisters and his mum, and it’ll be perfect for Louis, it’ll make him happy.

Rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, Harry hates how bitter he feels and wills himself to calm. It’s not a sad event; it’s not. It’s Louis’ thirty-first birthday. They didn’t even think he’d make it this far, not to his twenty-second or every year after. Since that awful day, his future has been bleak, and Harry can only make the best of the situation. There’s no other choice.

Now, the doctor visits are more frequent, especially after the seizures started two years before. At the time, Harry thought that was it. They told him to prepare, and he had, right down to the plot in Louis’ favorite place. But Louis held on and was still holding on, long after they thought he would. The imprint of the fear is apparent as the seizures continue, each one causing him to beg and pray for the hope he's lost. He makes promises he’ll never keep, just for one more day with his Louis.

“Harry,” Louis shouts, stuttering his name ungracefully, and Harry jumps at a little, not having paid attention. Harry searches for Louis’ eyes, but his face is red, shame covering his features, and Harry fears a tantrum is coming.

“I don’t know the answer,” Louis mumbles, and Harry can hear how sad he sounds. Harry’s heart pounds rough in his chest, the feeling courses through him, just like every time, how helpless he feels with Louis.

“Any more night terrors?” the doctor asks, much quieter this time, directed towards Harry. He immediately shakes his head and stands to lean beside Louis, who’s looking lost. He sees his hands are starting to shake, but he doesn’t have time to distract him here, not like at home.

“No, he’s been good,” he sighs, taking Louis’ hands in his. He rubs his fingers softly against his knuckles, holding tight until the tremor in his fingers fades. He looks to the doctor, “It’s about the same as last time, I think.” He bites his lip, thinking about what he can say in front of Louis and what he definitely can’t.

“MRI also showed little change,” the doctor says, his voice sad. Harry nods, taking in his words but not sure of their meaning. Louis leans his head against Harry’s shoulder and frees one of his hands to start tapping against his knee. He’s getting bored.

“So he could be getting better?” Harry asks, despite his resolve not to hope. Their doctor hesitates, and Harry closes his eyes at the sinking feeling that fills him, disappointment all over again.

“It’s a slight bit worse,” he explains, reaching to rest a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “not better. I think we’ll do the same we did this time. Repeat in six months and see where things are.”

“I need the potty,” Louis announces, standing before Harry has a chance to move. Harry chuckles despite himself and leads Louis out the door, pointing to the room across the hall. He leans against the door frame and releases a long-held breath, trying to shake his emotions, but he can’t ease the tension.

“Have you thought about the home?” Dr. Robeson asks, and Harry immediately lifts his head. His eyes narrow, and the doctor sighs sympathetically, “I know it’s hard, but they could take care of him there. He’d be around others with similar conditions.”

“I know,” Harry murmurs.

“As I told you when we started, it’s only a downward slope from here,” he continues, his voice gentle. “With a brain injury like his,” he says quietly, and Harry knows he’s watching his reaction, “he’s lucky, Harry.”

Harry huffs defiantly and turns from the door, facing the doctor, all the anger ready to lift off his tongue, but he suddenly can’t. Harry can’t release it. Every frustration, hope, desperation, all hang on the edge, and keeping him from falling is the doctor who’s done his best, did everything he promised, and more.

“I know,” Harry repeats finally, trying to wrap his head around what he’s hearing. He furrows his brow, dropping his gaze, “but this scan was the same as last time. That’s good.”

“Not if you compare it to two scans ago or three or four,” Robeson reminds him, patting a hand on Harry’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort. “I’m not saying this is simple, but you’re only one person, and you’re not going to be able to keep doing it on your own much longer.”

“We’ll be fine,” Harry whispers, feeling defeated. The doctor is speaking in a way not intended to be heartless, but just like when they met eight years before, Harry doesn’t want to hear the truth.

“Has he been using his cane at all?” he asks gently. Harry shakes his head, thinking about the walker Louis only uses at home when he’s tired or in pain. “I spotted the new hearing aids.”

“Yeah,” Harry turns and watches out the door for Louis to reappear. “He won’t leave them alone, though. He’s started wetting the bed again.”

“How often?” the doctor asks, pulling at his pen to write down the answer.

“Three or four times a week,” Harry rubs a hand through his hair, thinking of it. “I put a plastic sheet on the bed.”

“When did that start?” Robeson asks, and Harry can hear the real concern in his voice. This news isn’t a good sign, though Harry knew that already.

“About a month ago, after Niall visited,” Harry flushes thinking of it and drops his gaze to his lap. “I suppose you want all the honest answers now?”

“That would be helpful,” he laughs gently, and Harry nods, feeling grim.

“There’s still the seizures, but we see the specialist you recommended for that. There are no night terrors. He’s not as angry,” Harry’s clenches his fists and closes his eyes, “I just want to-”

“You’ve done everything and more for him, Harry,” he says quietly. Harry sniffles and nods, trying to keep calm, but he’s quickly falling apart. “He was in a coma for months, and you brought him to what he has today, far beyond anyone’s expectations. They thought he was gone. You know that.”

“How much longer do you think he has?” Harry whispers, barely able to ask the words, and he lifts his gaze, needing to see him when he answers. The door opens across the hall, and he clears his throat, suddenly not brave enough for it yet, particularly in the way Louis is bounding towards him like he is.

“Alright, Louis,” the doctor greets Louis, but Louis doesn’t smile or look his way. Harry rolls his eyes and adjusts the volume on his aides again, watching Louis smile when the greeting repeats. “Keep up with the monthly blood draws, and have a happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Louis grins, the words a jumble on his tongue, and Harry knows he’s getting tired. He turns to Harry, his eyes not quite focusing, and Harry wishes he’d brought the cane, even with Louis’ earlier protests.

“Give me a call,” the doctor says softly, handing Harry his card, “we should talk more.”

Harry bites his lip and stares at Louis, who’s already moving ahead, out of the room. There’s plenty to do before their flight, but suddenly Harry just wants to sleep again, fight off the bad dream that won’t go away.

“Harry,” Louis calls from the bathroom, his tone growing louder and more urgent as he continues, “Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry.”

Harry huffs a sigh, throwing down the half-packed suitcase and stumbling down the hall. His eyes grow wide as he enters the bathroom, and a part of him wants to laugh while the other is ready to give up. Louis is in a heap on the floor, his wet body dripping water everywhere, and there isn’t a towel in sight.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks softly, opening the closet door and grabbing a towel from the shelf. Louis stares at the floor, and Harry realizes his aides are on the counter. He hasn’t heard him. Louis looks up when he approaches, his smile wide, as though Harry were the only person in the world.

“I felled,” Louis groans, and when he lifts his hands, Harry sees how much they’re shaking. He presses his palm to Louis’ thigh and feels that his whole body is. Every frustration seeps from him as the instant fear and worry fill him instead. He knows this is a minor thing, happens far too often, but the anxiety never fades, wondering how many more until--

“It’s okay,” Harry says quickly, running a hand through Louis’ wet hair to calm him. He cups his cheek to brings Louis’ eyes to his, nodding that’s he’s okay to reassure him. He leans close to his ear, speaking loudly, “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Louis says in a normal tone, taking the towel and holding it around his body. Harry walks quickly down the hall towards the kitchen, easily finding the pills he needs, and then grabs Louis’ walker from the closet. When Harry returns to the bathroom, Louis is staring shamefully, the towel in a ball at his crotch. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s muttering, his voice bitter, before he even sees Harry.

“Lou,” Harry says sternly, opening the walker. He hates speaking in that tone, but it’s the only way to get him to listen. Louis looks up, his eyes narrowing, and Harry knows there’s no avoiding the tantrum that’s coming. “Come on,” he almost yells, feeling almost foolish, but he knows Louis won’t hear him otherwise.

“No, no!” Louis shouts, shaking off Harry’s advances. He swings his fists in the air, and Harry stumbles as one particularly wild swing hits him square in the chin. “I don’t wanna,” he huffs, shrugging away, his hands still raised in defiance.

“Come on,” Harry yells back, frustration filling him. “I’m not leaving you on the floor,” he groans, grabbing Louis’ bicep and not letting go. Louis releases a rough growl, but as Harry tightens his grip, he slowly relaxes, defeat covering his face.

“I don’t wanna,” Louis repeats. Harry nods and releases his tight hold, his fingers brushing the red skin, praying it doesn’t leave a mark. He lets Louis curl back into himself, bare and exposed on the floor, and he sits helplessly on the toilet lid.

Harry lets his head hang between his drooping shoulders, feeling the urge to cry at the situation. It’s not just tonight, but so often, he’s just fighting with Louis. Harry doesn’t want to admit any more than Louis wants to accept that they both need more help. Soon enough, he’s going to need the walker all the time, not just on these rare occasions. It’s not going to be simple, as though it’s simple now, but what about when Louis can’t walk anymore.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, and it takes several moments for Harry to lift his head, but the guilt fills him at the sight of the tears on Louis’ cheeks. “Help,” he says, the words slurring on Louis’ tired tongue. Harry nods, not bothering to speak, feeling his tears slip from his eyes.

Harry wets a flannel under the sink, dipping a bit of soap on it, before turning back to Louis. This time, Louis doesn’t pull away, and Harry gets him cleaned up, steadily wiping away any remnants of his accident. He soaks up the puddle on the floor with the towel and grabs a clean one to wrap around Louis’ waist. By the time he’s ready to help Louis stand, his eyes are already drooping, and it’s merely Harry picking him up.

He kicks the walker to the side and carries Louis to his bedroom, rather than fighting to keep him awake to walk. He’s used to Louis’ weight in his arms and smiles softly as Louis curls into him. He doesn’t bother to dress him after laying him in the bed. He pulls the covers up to his chin, tucking them around Louis’ bare body to ensure he’s warm.

Harry finds the disposable pads and maneuvers his body to get one placed beneath him, not wanting to wash the sheets before their flight the following day. Just the thought of it reminds him of everything he has left to do before he can even think of climbing into the bed. Harry stands by it and brushes his fingers through Louis’ hair, staring for a long moment before he turns away, unable to stop the tears that begin to fall.

He sniffles and groans, struggling to hold everything in, but late at night, when Louis can’t see, it’s the hardest. Louis is still that boy he fell in love with all those years ago. Harry can even see him sometimes, in the faded glances. He can sometimes recognize the twinkle of mischief, but the stubbornness he used to love is now a burden he has to bear. It’s challenging and trying, but Harry knows he couldn’t be anywhere else.

Harry manages to finish packing just before midnight but doesn’t go to bed right away. Instead, he finds himself wandering their flat, his eyes flickering over everything they’ve gained in the last ten years since moving to the states. He doesn’t know why he grows so nostalgic every time they go home, but he feels it again. They’ll see their families, and most importantly, Niall.

He thinks of the last time he saw him several months before. Since then, Niall has gotten a new prosthetic, it’s supposed to be state of the art, and from their talks, it sounds that it’s working out okay. He’ll never be able to play guitar as he could, but the new fingers allow him much more ease at the studio. It was a relief for Harry to hear, though knowing Niall’s abilities as a producer, there was never much concern.

Harry tries to pretend he’s forgotten that night, but he never will. It was his birthday party they were going to, his surprise that Louis planned, his fault he wasn’t with them. Harry didn’t know, was waiting for them to arrive and never expecting the call that changed everything. He remembers his rush to the hospital, the hours he had to wait for the answers he didn’t want to hear.

He’s been through the counseling and the therapy everyone recommended, but the guilt has never faded, now merely a dull ache but never forgotten. Harry sits at the edge of the sofa when he spots the picture on the mantle, the five of them laughing and smiling, their last photo together as the biggest band in the world. Liam and Zayn have their arms wrapped around each other, their eyes on Louis, his eyes filled with amusement, saying something to make them all laugh. And then himself, eyes gazing with the happiness and love he felt for them all.

Killed instantly, is what they said, but it didn’t bring any relief. The band and friends were still gone, Niall lost an arm, and Louis is-- his Louis was gone, replaced with a mere figment of his Louis, the boy he loved. Louis spent the seven months in a coma, the year following when he couldn’t speak; it never prepared Harry for the love that he would never again have back. He waited, he waited, and he waited, but Louis never returned.

There are things Louis can remember now but does not understand. Every setback is a reminder, telling Harry everything he never did, everything he couldn’t fix and still can’t. It’s lonely, and Harry hates it, but it can’t be anything else. Harry sniffles with the tears and leans into the sofa, praying for the ache to fade. He stopped wishing it all to be different, he knows it won’t change a thing, but the loneliness still lingers. He’s hurting for the nights when he and Louis stayed up, talking about their careers, their future, never imagining anything like this.

He didn’t think about death at eighteen. He thought about coming out to the world. Eleanor and Louis had broken up; they were biding their time. He remembers how scared he was, how Louis was the strong one, and even years after the accident, Harry knows he’s still the weak one. When Louis is gone, there’s going to be nothing to keep him together.

When he initially sought out the neurological institutes, he was relieved to find the one in the United States. Harry knows he was running, but he and Louis fell into it. He found a house for them, starting building a life where he imagined a cured Louis. Harry couldn’t believe any diagnosis spoken. He was sure Louis would return to normal. Harry didn’t realize that he was as close to normal as Louis would ever be again.

Niall came and stayed for a while, but even he had to start anew. Simon was quick to hire him on, and Niall found a fit in the studio, working with other artists. They stayed in close contact, but Harry had always known that Niall had moved on, where he still lingered in the past. He still held on to everything they had, not knowing how to envision anything else.

Closing his eyes, Harry leans back, wishing for the sleep that isn’t coming. The doctor’s visits are hard, hearing what he says he knew, but deep down, he’s always been hoping for more. Harry supposes that it’ll be that way forever, still holding onto his Louis. In a way, he died with Liam and Zayn, and the thought rips a sob from his chest.

The scream from Louis’ room startled him, and Harry is quick to uncurl his body, rushing to soothe the dream Louis is experiencing. Suddenly, he’s looking forward to seeing Niall again, relieved to be staying with Louis’ mum. He’ll get a night out where he doesn’t have to worry about who Louis is with, that he’d be okay. Harry could relax if only for a few hours, knowing that Louis is safe.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful response to this story. I just wanted to note that I started this before Louis' mother's passing and have chosen to keep her in the story. I'm sorry if that bothers anyone.

The trip to the airport is the least fun that Harry can remember in too long. First, they wake up late, and then Louis is angry and stubborn because they don’t have time for a cup of tea like he does every morning. Then he spots Harry packing his walker, the very thing he hates, but Harry knows if he doesn’t take it, Louis will need it for sure.

By the time they make it to the terminal, Louis yells out constant obscenities, and there’s nothing to do to stop him unless Harry gives him the relaxant. He doesn’t want to, knowing it’ll make him sleep, and he can’t carry him onto the plane. So Harry endures, not willing to give it until they’re seated, and the plane is moving. In the meantime, he sits beside him in the chair, but he’s tense and can’t calm Louis anymore than himself.

“Fucking hell,” Louis cries out. Harry immediately shushes him, cringing away from the woman and her small child, who is watching Louis with curiosity. Harry’s waiting for the moment when the kid will mock fun of Louis’ scar, and then he’s done for sure. He hates when Louis is like this, completely uncontrollable, and Harry is powerless to stop him until he calms and it could be hours.

“Lou,” Harry whispers, pressing his hands to the back of Louis’ neck. He adjusts the hearing aid, but Louis shakes his head, his hand hitting Harry in the face as he shoves him away. “Louis,” he says harshly, and the aid squeaks loud and sharp. Louis’ eyes fill with tears, and Harry immediately wraps his arms around Louis to calm him.

“Hurts,” he mumbles, everything else fading as Harry takes it from his ear. It will only upset him to keep it in.

“It’s all right,” Harry murmurs, even though he knows Louis can’t hear him. He feels like crying himself as the tears drip down Louis’ cheeks. He sniffles, and Harry knows how he hates when people look at him. He’s got his glasses on, and Harry reaches to take them off. It isn’t kind, but he needs Louis to calm, and he will if he can’t see them.

Their flight number announces, and Harry steps up with the first-class passengers, Louis huddled close to his side. Harry holds the walker firmly with their carry-on in one hand while holding Louis up in his opposite arm. They hold up the line when Louis tugs from Harry’s grip, but he tumbles down in his rush. Harry has to set everything down and pick Louis’ back up, who’s now laughing, and then all their equipment.

“Sit, Louis,” Harry says when they get to their seat, his tone sharp. Louis’ eyes grow wide in surprise, and Harry sighs, falling into the seat beside him. “Just sit still,” he says softer, and Louis nods, quietly agreeing.

“I have to pee,” he mumbles and stands without a pause in his words. Harry has to stumble after him through the thick crowd fighting to get to their seats. Louis makes it to the loo in the plane, and it’s the one relief Harry can find through their terrible day.

They make it back to their seats in time for the pilot to order everyone into their assigned seat. Louis is anxious, and Harry grimaces as he realizes he doesn’t have a bottle of water, meaning he can’t take his pills until they come around with the cart, and that could be another half hour.

“Harry, Harry,” he murmurs, leaning close and then swinging his head far away. He moves close, and Harry reaches to stop his movements, but it’s too late when he’s knocked heads with their neighbor, who is none too happy by the arrangement.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says quickly, wrapping an arm around Louis to try to settle his movements. His eyes are flickering, and Harry quickly realizes this isn’t his temper. “Lou, Louis,” he says louder, “Louis, look at me, Louis.” His hands start to shake, and Harry grabs them as his eyes continue to flicker, and it’s coursing through his body, the seizure.

“Sir, is everything all right?” a woman asks. Harry doesn’t turn to face her, his hands coming to cup Louis’ cheek as his head falls back against the seat.

“Water, get me some water,” he says quickly. There’s a murmur going on around him, but Harry doesn’t acknowledge it, his focus on only Louis. He can’t see his eyes with the way his head is angled back. His knees are pulsing against the side of the seat, and Harry knows it’s minor. It’ll be over soon.

“Sir, do I need to call someone?” the voice asks again, but Harry quickly reaches to unclasp his belt and stand over Louis.

He sees his eyes are starting to slow and knows it’s coming to an end. Harry closes his eyes and leans forward, continuing to cup his cheeks. He breathes slow breaths into Louis’ ear, knowing it will ease him from being upset, as he always is after the seizures.

“Louis,” Harry whispers, feeling his body grow lax. He pulls back, his eyes focusing on Louis, and he releases and long breath when Louis begins to blink, rapidly at first and then begins to slow.

“Harry,” he whispers, his eyes scrunching in pain, and Harry knows his headache is starting now. Harry makes sure he can meet his gaze, recalling his hearing aid is out on the opposite side from where he spoke.

“I’m right here,” Harry urges him to understand, and Louis slowly nods. His hands shake as he reaches up, each clasping Harry’s wrist, gripping so tight it almost hurts, but Harry doesn’t pull back yet. “Are you okay?” he asks loudly, knowing he needs Louis to hear his voice. Louis nods slowly, continuing to blink away his confusion. “We’re on the airplane,” he says slowly, just as loud, “do you remember that?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods slowly, his eyes firm on Harry. “Are we going on a trip still?” His eyes scrunch, but this time with tears filling his eyes, “I don’t want to stay. Don’t make me stay.”

“We’re going,” Harry nods, pleading with him to calm and not get upset. “I promise we’re going. We’re going.”

“I’m so sorry,” Louis whispers, and Harry closes his eyes, easing the ache that fills him from Louis’ desperation.

“It’s okay now,” Harry says gently, opening his eyes again, “You’re okay.” Louis nods, and Harry slowly pulls away, wary of Louis’ gaze following each of his movements.

“Sir?” Harry jumps and turns to see the flight attendant watching him closely, her eyes filled with concern, “Should I call someone?”

“No,” Harry says quickly, taking the bottle from her hand. “He’s alright, just got a bit excited for the flight, that’s all.”

“Here’s a blanket and pillow,” she says, taking it from the attendant next to her. “We’re going to get ready to take off now.”

“Oh, shit,” Harry looks around, his cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, unable to hide his embarrassment as he turns to Louis, who stares at the ground uncomfortably.

“Can you take your seat, please?” the attendant asks, and Harry nods, sliding into his seat and leaning towards Louis. He pulls the bottle of pills from his pocket and grabs a pink and a blue, one to calm him and the other to help Louis sleep.

“Thank you,” Louis murmurs, his fingers shaking as he takes the pills, but with the water, he swallows them with ease.

“Just relax,” Harry whispers, leaning in his seat as the flight attendant begin their spiel. He notices the one watching them closely, an air of recognition in her eyes, and Harry can’t meet her gaze any longer. He knows what it means, that she knows what they once were, what he destroyed.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs as the plane begins to move. Harry takes his hand and faces forward, knowing Louis will be sleeping soon. He should follow suit, but he’s alert, far too awake for the several hours' long flight ahead of them.

When Louis’ grip loosens, and his hand falls to his lap, Harry immediately feels guilty for losing his temper. Maybe he should’ve given Louis the pills earlier as he wanted, then they could’ve avoided the seizure altogether, but deep down, Harry knows he couldn’t have.

“Sir,” he looks up to see that she’s watching him from the next seat. “Is your friend, is he all right?” Her eyes are full of concern, and Harry nods, hoping to ease away from the conversation.

“Yeah,” he answers finally. He finally realizes that the plane’s lifting off, and the girl is still seated beside him.

“One of us has to start in an open seat,” she answers before he can ask. Harry nods and faces forward, gripping the metal as the plane lifts off the ground.

“I know you recognize us,” Harry says sharply, feeling her gaze yet again. He can’t even look at her, knowing the disappointment that has to be filling her thoughts.

“I do,” she responds after a long moment. “I never expected to see you on one of our flights ten years later,” she laughs, but Harry doesn’t return the sound.

“I’m sorry,” he shrugs, “I don’t like to think of it.” She nods and turns her head forward, and his breath catches as the plane dips before steadying.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” the girl says quietly, and Harry glances over, unsurprised to see her watching him again. “You guys were everything to me,” she says gently, dropping her eyes to the floor, “I cried for weeks after it happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry answers robotically.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she responds without hesitation, making Harry look up from his hands. “I’m just so relieved, there are always stories about what’s happened, but you’re okay.”

“We’re not okay,” Harry scoffs.

“Louis was in a coma for almost a year,” she retorts. “How many people live to tell that tale? Probably no one, and everyone says it’s because of you, that you kept him together.”

“Everyone, who?” he asks quietly. The woman shrugs, sighing softly, and he realizes she’s not going to answer him. “Niall’s doing good, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Um, he’s working in music,” Harry says quietly, not fully believing that he’s admitting this all to a perfect stranger. “He’s just gotten a new prosthetic,” he smiles, thinking of how excited Niall was.

“Can he still play guitar?” she asks suddenly, but Harry shakes his head, unable to say out loud that he can’t. “Is he happy?”

“I think so,” Harry nods, releasing a slow breath when Louis stirs beside him. He takes the blanket he’d received earlier and pulls it over him, watching as he turns his head, drool dripping from his lips.

“Tell me about Louis,” the girl prods, and Harry immediately stiffens, realizing she must want to tell everyone.

“That’s alright,” he says quickly. The woman nods and crosses her arms over her chest. Harry turns, “Why do you want to know?”

“You want to know?” she asks, her blue eyes boring into his, and Harry nods. She bites her lip, pulling it between her teeth as she makes a decision. “When I was twelve, things happened to me, things I won’t tell reveal now. I couldn’t cope, decided I wasn’t going to live anymore.

“I had a plan,” she whispers, and Harry nods, unable to look away from this beautiful girl, unsure where she’s going. “I decided I was going to reach out to one person. There was this band I’d discovered. They were my only relief, my only escape. I wrote this letter, telling them everything, and that I was sorry, I couldn’t go on.”

“One Direction,” Harry asks quietly, and she nods. A smile comes to her face, and Harry finds he has to know the rest of the story. “I wrote this letter, sent it out, and I forgot about it. Not really, but I tried to. Well, before I could follow through with my plan, I ended up in the hospital.”

“You--?” Harry whispers, but she shakes her head.

“No, things I won’t say,” she whispers, and he nods again. “I came “home,” and there was this letter for me, waiting on my bed.” Harry leans closer as the tears fill her eyes, and she smiles so big that he has to smile back as well. “It was from Louis, and he told me I had to go on, he told me to call this number, and he’d get me the help I needed.”

“He did?” Harry turned to look at Louis, utterly unaware of any of this.

“He did,” she whispered, “I called that number, and I was in a new home the next day. Eventually, they found me a family in America, far away from everything that happened to me.”

“Wow,” Harry breathes.

“So,” she says quickly, her voice sharp, “Even if you want to forget, I won’t. I won’t ever forget.”

“I don’t want to forget,” Harry sighs, dropping his gaze to his hands. The captain's voice is loud overhead, and Harry sucks in a breath when the girl stands, patting his shoulder twice before walking away.

He can’t quite wrap his head around her story. Harry can’t believe Louis would do all that and never have told him about it. She said she was twelve, well she looks about, hell, he doesn’t know. Looking at her, though, he notices the scars on her right arm, and he can’t but believe they look like burn marks. When she turns to the side, he sees a significant line on her neck, and he thinks he might understand.

Louis wouldn’t tell a soul if he knew something. It was something that made Harry trust him so easily. If Louis didn’t want him to know something, he wouldn’t have even hinted at it. Harry sinks in his chair, realizing how horrible that letter must have been if Louis kept it away from Harry. They told each other everything.

“Harry?” Harry shuffles awake at the sound. He didn’t even realize he fell asleep. He turns to see Louis staring at him, grinning as he poked Harry’s cheek, searching for his dimple.

“Hey,” he mumbles roughly, his voice filled with sleep. “When’d you wake up?”

“Huh?” Louis shouts, and Harry can’t help but laugh as he leans forward to adjust the one hearing aid he has in. Louis grins madly, watching as Harry reaches for the other one and puts that in as well. “Say your name,” he laughs.

“Louis,” Harry doesn’t bother to correct his error. He leans back in his seat, and Louis follows, turned on his side to face Harry. “You feeling better?”

“Yep,” Louis answers firmly. “We still a long time?” Harry glances at his watch and sees they slept much longer than he expected.

“About two hours,” he says in surprise. Louis rocks in his seat happily, and Harry can’t help but smile, knowing how excited he is to see his family.

“You excited?” Louis asks, grinning at him. Harry nods, knowing he’s going to see Gemma and his nephew again.

“Not as excited as you,” Harry laughs, taking the blanket from Louis’ lap and pulling it over his torso. “You need to go potty?”

“Nope,” Louis shakes his head. He keeps rocking, and Harry realizes he’s just moving, doesn’t know he’s doing it. Harry thinks about stopping him but lets him go. They’ve got time before he needs to relax, and maybe he’ll sleep better since it’ll be nearly bedtime when they arrive.

Louis stays awake for the flight duration, which means Harry stays awake the duration of the flight, and though he’s trying not to be cranky about it. Sometimes Harry wishes he could just do whatever he wants, but with Louis, he can’t. At one time, he imagined himself a father, and for some time, he wonders if taking care of Louis is like that at all.

He stays away from any mates that have children. He doesn’t visit the one’s married or with partners who’ve stayed together for ages and ages. He’s nearly thirty, and Harry knows he’s not even close to the stage they are. He knows what he does. He pushes away anyone who might even try to be close. Niall had pointed it out at his visit and then departed on that note, something Harry hadn’t forgotten.

Sometimes, he thinks about Niall and wonders if he’d wait for Harry like he’s been waiting for Louis. For a long time, he still does. Honestly, he’s waited for Louis to return. Late at night mostly, when he has the time to think without feeling guilty, he wonders when Louis will come back. The Louis he hid within corridors at their latest show, the one he came home to after a long night with Grimmy.

It was the Louis that held him and took care of him when he thought he’d let everyone else down. Harry sighs, knowing no way it could happen now, there’s no one to tell him he’s doing the right thing, he’s merely guessing as Louis stares at him with wide eyes, begging for Harry’s approval as he used to do to him.

When the flight begins to descend, Louis is getting agitated. His tapping turned into a loud slapping against his knees. Harry knows it’ll be better once they get off the plane. He’s not used to having to be confined for so long. They don’t make the trip often, but this has been the most leisurely flight that Harry’s encountered with Louis, relief on its own.

“We ready?” Louis asks when the pilot starts to talk, and Harry almost nods but quickly shakes his head. “Why not?” Louis whines loudly, “I’m done.”

“We have to wait a bit longer,” Harry sighs, listening to the pilot's announcement that they have to wait for the runway to clear before they can land. “Who’s going to be waiting for us?” he tries to distract him, and when Louis pauses and begins to laugh, he knows it’s worked.

“Um, Lottie and baby Willie,” he chuckles, turning to Harry. “How old is the baby again? Is he big or is he small?”

“I think Eddie is three now,” Harry says, and Louis nods, counting it off on his fingers, before lifting his head in a smile.

“Three years old,” he says, proud because he doesn’t have to check with Harry for an answer on this one. “He’s big. You have a little you, and I have a little me.”

“Yep, they sure are original in their names, eh?” Louis nods but stops as the plane jerks and begins to lower to the ground. “It’s almost time,” Louis whispers, leaning close to Harry, as though it’s a secret.

“They should be waiting,” Harry says with a smile, his fingers soothing over the back of Louis’ tense hand.

“I think he’s a few months old now,” Harry tries to remember the date he was born, continuing to distract Louis. “I’m going to say he’s still small. “

“Can I hold him?” Louis asks his voice firm and losing the almost childlike quality it often has. His eyes search out Harry, “I won’t hurt him, will I?”

“No, no,” Harry responds quickly, sliding his fingers alongside Louis’, giving his hand a firm hold. He pats his arm with his free hand to assure him. “You’re going to be just fine,” he whispers, “I’ll be right there with you.”

“You promise?” Louis asks quietly. Harry nods and leans over, breaking the rules as he kisses Louis’ cheek, soft and lingering to remind him that Harry’s not going anywhere. He’ll never go anywhere. Louis will always have him.

Louis turns his head and tries to give Harry an actual kiss, and Harry pulls back, closing his eyes. He keeps his hands tight around Louis’, but he can’t look at him right now. Louis knows what his body wants, but he doesn’t understand why. Louis’ body knows what Harry is to him, but Louis’ mind does not.

His mind doesn’t have the memories that Harry does, the late nights and early mornings, the hours of talking of plans and promises that fell apart when someone drove just a little bit drunk, didn’t see the red lights. Harry so often wants to hate him, but he was their age, and Harry knows he wasn’t perfect. He’d driven with a buzz, never thinking something might happen.

It could’ve been him any of those times, but no, it was a Christopher Ethans, forever known to their fans as the one who killed One Direction. He spent some time in prison, and Harry met him later on. He came to the breaking ground for the Ziam foundation for the musically inclined. It was a stupid name, but when someone suggested, Harry said okay. The idea had always been Liam’s, something he wanted to do after they had time to relax.

Deep down, Harry knew that Zayn would’ve been right there with him, so it was only natural to add him into the project. It started February 1st, 2017, four years to the day after their accident. It’s a great program, and they have raised a lot of money, given out hundreds of scholarships, but Harry has very little to do with it, even when they try to include him.

Louis’ memories of before the accident are scarce, he remembers people, and he knows they were his friends, but he doesn’t remember much of the band. He remembers singing, and he knows it was fun. After he began speaking again, they tried singing, but he can’t anymore, can’t hold a tune. They said it was expected, after nearly a year without sound, but it was something that Harry had wanted.

Even then, it was still months until Louis learned to talk again, to be at the level he is now. He had to learn to walk, talk, eat, write, everything like he was a baby. Louis remembered little outside of faces but knew everyone in his family. Harry and Niall and his sisters and mum were the ones he knew immediately. Louis wasn’t told who they were. Everyone else, though, he had to relearn names, build new relationships, start all over.

When Louis woke, and Harry realized there was no singing, he officially released a statement about the end of One Direction, 18 months after the accident. If he recalls, Harry thinks that’s the last time he honestly cried, and did, sobbed for hours, finally mourning what he’d lost, knowing it was never going to be the same again.

“Ready?” Louis asks softly, breaking Harry of his thoughts. He nods and begins packing his bag, zipping it shut while Louis bounces relentlessly in his seat. “Ready? Ready?” he repeats, just below his breath, and Harry almost wants to laugh but doesn’t. Instead, he takes his hand and tells him to stand.

Most of the other passengers have exited, and Harry prefers it that way, so no one’s pushing them too hard towards the exit. Louis can take his time; it’ll be much easier on him. Harry cringes as he watches the pain etched on his features, his knees, and hips from sitting for so long. Harry reaches out, but Louis waves him away. He hopes they have the wheelchair he requested waiting for them.

As they near the exit, Louis is limping considerably, Harry sees that same girl, and without thinking, he steps from Louis and wraps her in a firm hug. He probably won’t ever see him again, but he has to promise her that he won’t forget either. She holds on just as tight, and though he doesn’t look back, he can hear her sniffling, crying for them, for her, he doesn’t know.

“Let’s go,” Louis cries out, frustrated. Harry laughs and nods, carrying their things as he follows Louis down the long hallway towards the airport entrance. It’s almost dinnertime here, and Louis is hungry. Harry can tell when he immediately starts limping in the direction of the food across the way.

“No, Lou,” Harry says sternly, and Louis sulks but turns in the direction Harry’s pointing towards the baggage claims. “Remember, who’s waiting for us?” he asks quickly.

“Lottie,” Louis squeals, his voice is echoing in the hall. Harry nods, suddenly realizing they surpassed the wheelchair when Louis stops and leans against the wall.

“Let’s get a chair,” Harry says, looking around, but there’s no one in sight to assist him. He has the walker and quickly opens it up. Louis pouts, but when Harry doesn’t back down, he finally takes it, slamming it against the wall with his jerk. “That’s enough,” Harry scolds, and Louis grunts but stops moving until his angry breaths slow to almost regular.

“Sorry,” Louis mumbles, and Harry nods, picking up the rest of their bags and ambling behind Louis as they near the baggage claims. He recognizes others from their flight and walks that way, hoping Louis will sit, but knows he won’t until he sees Lottie.

“Lou? Lou is that you?!” Harry turns with a grin, watching Lottie greet Louis. Her face holds a smile, but Harry can see the concern at the sight of the walker.

“He has his hearing aids out,” Harry says quickly, and Lottie nods, speaking louder for Louis’ benefit. Her eyes find Harry’s several times, but he’s not going to say a word in front of Louis. He sets their bags down and goes to the baggage claim, finding theirs quickly.

“Let’s go, Harry,” Louis says with a wide grin. Lottie has their other things on a trolley, and he adds the other two bags on top of it. “Are you ready?” Louis asks happily, his voice loud, and it echoes as he wraps an arm around Harry’s to urge him forward.

“I’m coming,” he laughs.

“Everyone’s at the house,” Lottie grins, continuing to glance at Louis, piecing his health together, Harry assumes. It has been a while since they came home.

"Okay," Harry says with a nod, suddenly feeling the giddiness that Louis is feeling.

It's not only been long for Louis, but it's been long for Harry as well. With Louis starting work, it meant there were more extended periods between visits, which he wishes didn't have to be like that, but at the same time, Harry knows it's needed. Louis needs that independence. His therapist was the first to suggest the program. It's also where the group home's idea came up—most of the coworkers lived in different respite centers throughout the area. The very thought of it makes Harry lose the smile on his face. The doctors have each suggested it at every recent visit, always out of earshot of Louis. Harry doesn't know what Louis will say, but he'd be stupid to think that Louis wouldn't understand what Harry's doing. The last thing Harry wants is for Louis to feel unwanted.

On his bad days, Louis can't hide his disdain for himself and what he can't do. It's those days when Harry sees the old Louis again. The old Louis is stuck in a worn-out body and a mind that can't focus and gives him seizures if he gets overworked. Louis can't run anymore, well he can, but he has to ice his hips and knees all night and for the following day. He can't drive, he can't operate a stove without fear he'll forget about it, which has happened on more than one occasion. Some days, Harry feels like an overzealous babysitter, left to either say yes or no, make the decisions that Louis can't make himself.

To say the thought of a group home, somewhere deep down, might almost be appealing hurts. Harry doesn't know what to say, though. He can't admit to Louis he's tired, but Harry’s completely exhausted. Day in, day out, he’s left to watch the man he's still in love with slowly breaking apart. There are only pieces of Louis left now, and when he can't walk anymore, there will be even more on Harry's plate. At least Louis can dress and bathe himself, goes to the bathroom on his own, most of the time. When he's tired, that's a whole other story, but generally speaking, Louis is still independent, and Harry doesn't want to take that away from him. Despite everything, Harry still believes in the off chance that Louis might even get better. He can be normal.

"Harry?" Lottie asks when she sits in the front seat.

Louis is enamored with the child’s car seat in the back, beside him, but Lottie already stated that Willie stayed home with his dad, waiting for them. Lottie married Bill three years before, a young marriage by all standards, but Harry knew, like everyone else, that it was right. However, Jay had disapproved throughout the engagement but had finally agreed in time for the wedding, small but perfect. It was similar to the wedding Louis had always wanted for them. When they did talk about the future, which wasn't often, Louis wasn't one to speculate, he lived in the moment, and that's all that mattered.

"We're almost there," Louis whispers, and Harry nods, taking his hand, needing the stability as much as Louis. The beginning is always awkward, everyone assessing Louis, how he walks, talks, interacts.

They watch his outbursts and occasional seizures, everyone sizing up how well he's holding up. Harry always hates that part, as though they're going to shun him for Louis' poor care. In the end, Harry’s commended for Louis’ pristine care, and they always say he should have help. He doesn't have to do it on his own, but Harry knows he has to.

He's the only one without scars, but maybe Louis is his scar. He's etched into Harry's skin, circled into his veins, trapped, unyielding as he takes and takes, until the day, Harry's afraid he'll have nothing left to give. Then where will they be, who will Louis have then, because, without Harry, he knows Louis is the same as he, nothing.

"Here, here, here," Louis repeats under his breath, and Harry chuckles, watching his shaking hands, and suddenly feels guilty for not bringing him more often.

"Yep," Harry nods slowly, wanting to calm him, but doesn't. It's hard being away all the time, and Harry can feel it in his gut, that pull of excitement. Though he's not displaying the same as Louis, it's still there, pulling tighter until his breath is quickening with his excitement.

"I'll see mum?" Louis asks, and Harry nods, glancing back at him. The excitement fades at the sight of Louis' shaking hands, and Harry knows he's going to overwhelm himself. He already had a seizure the night before; he doesn't need another.

"Lou, Louis," Harry shouts when Louis doesn't respond. "Louis," he says harshly, and Louis finally stops and turns towards Harry in surprise. Harry knows he thinks he’s in trouble.

"Sorry," Louis says with wide eyes, and Harry immediately closes his and takes Louis' hand. They're shaking, and Harry can barely keep them still, but he needs to. He can't have another seizure right as they arrive. His mum will insist on the hospital visit, which isn't required since Harry knows what to do, but she always insists. Then it's a six-hour visit, only to be told by the physician to watch Louis, as Harry has been doing since first diagnosed.

"You're alright," Harry says gently, still speaking loudly, but doesn't bother to turn up the hearing aids at this point. When he starts to lose control, Harry knows he focuses on touch better than voices. He cups his cheek and gently coaches him to calm, but as the car slows, he knows it won't be enough time. Louis keeps his eyes closed as Harry continues to brush his skin, easing him into a more zenlike state.

"We here, Harry?" he asks smoothly, his eyes opening slowly. Harry nods and moves to his ears, turning his aides up just a little, knowing the yells and screams of his family might startle him a little, as they always do at first.

"Ready?" Lottie asks, and Harry nods, turning back around in his seat. He undoes his seatbelt, slides forward, opens his door, and looks up to the house before moving to Louis' door. He's shaking again, but it's better than it was, and he doesn't look quite so frantic. His eyes find Louis', and Harry closes his mouth, unsure of what to say. Lottie gets William out of his seat, and Harry pulls Louis from the car. He leaves the bags, knowing he'll worry about them later on. Instead, he pulls Louis into his side, allowing the touch of Louis' arm around his waist that he often doesn't.

"M'cited," Louis mumbles, his words quick and stuck on his tongue as he bounces forward. He's still limping, and Harry keeps holding him up, rather than trying to fight him against the walker or even the cane.

"I'm excited, too," Harry says in agreement as the door opens and figured begin to pour out and fill the yard. Even in the bitter air of winter, no one wears coats, only a few with shoes, as though they didn't expect them so quickly. Even Louis has forgone his jacket, but Harry knows how fast he can get warm when he gets excited like he is.

"You're here, you're here," Jay is yelling, despite her age, the first to Louis.

"I'm here," Louis yells in response, his arms opening wide, and Harry holds onto his waist until Jay reaches him and finally letting go. He steps back and turns to find his mum, staring up at him with tears in her eyes.

"You're home," she whispers, and Harry nods, falling into her arms with more desperation he knew he was feeling. The world drips away as he sinks into her touch, taking in the feel of her fingers moving steadily up and down his back. Harry wants to hold on forever, to forget everything, every worry, fear, discretion, every moment of self-depreciation is gone, replaced with his mother's touch. She can always do this to him, make him forget everything, reminding him that he's okay, that everything will still be okay.

"I'm here," Harry finally breathes into her hair, and she nods, her fingers sliding into his hair, holding him as tightly as she's holding him.

"It's okay," she says gently, and that's when Harry realizes how close he is to cry. He's shaking, trembling as he holds onto the months without her, the days he's longed for any relief, but it's here, with her, and it's okay, everything's going to be okay.

"Can I have a hug?" Harry immediately pulls back at the sound of the tiny voice and looks to see Eddie staring up at him with those familiar wide green eyes. Harry grins, and wipes at his damp cheeks with one sleeve, and leans down, trying to ignore the lingering wetness.

"Of course you can," Harry laughs, pulling him into his arms. "I always want a hug from my favorite nephew," Harry holds him close, grinning as he wraps his tiny arms around his neck.

"I'm your only nephew," he giggles, squirming when Harry wraps one hand around his back, his fingers digging into his sides. "Well, for a little while," he whispers in Harry's ear, "but it's a secret."

"What?" Harry asks and sets Edward down on the cool grass. He stands up to see Gemma approaching, and he raises his eyebrow at the sight of her hand over her stomach. She's not showing, but it's a given sign. He knows what it means.

"He told you," Gemma shakes her head, wrapping her arms around Harry's neck. "You alright, little brother?" she asks softly, and he nods, pulling back to ease his smile, force it to hide the jealousy, the envy that is curling up his spine despite his resolve to kick it away. Even though she probably will, he can't let her know, but Harry doesn't want her to.

"I'm so happy for you," he grins, and she smiles, grabbing her husband, Tom's, hand.

Harry watches him wrap an arm around her waist, and he has to look away. He turns around to find Louis in his sisters' arms, Pheobe and Daisy all grown up, and Harry realizes how much time's passed. They're in school now, nearly done, ready to start their own lives. Harry wonders when it'll be his turn to do the same. He hasn't, not for a long time, and he suddenly feels like he can't breathe. Harry walks over to them, finding Louis's hand and releasing a long sigh as it anchors him, seeling him to the ground. Harry can breathe, he's okay, and he looks to Louis and quickly understands that he's not. He's not okay.

Louis tightens his grip, his eyes are wide when Harry looks back up, and he nods, slow and almost dreamlike. At that moment, Harry sees the old Louis he lost so long ago, and it brings tears to his eyes. He interlocks their fingers, pulling Louis closer, but Louis stumbles and using one hand against Harry's chest to stabilize himself. His fingers curl into the fabric, tugging until Harry's collar dips.

Louis is right there. Harry can feel the breath of air on his skin, can feel the heat, the warmth of Louis. When Louis looks up again, Harry shudders, his breath catching as he sees Louis, the Louis now, that doesn't understand, can't understand that want that Harry still has. He doesn't know what the heat of his touch does, the tension that still lingers, pulsing beneath his skin for Louis, for a Louis that disappeared years ago.

"Harry?" Louis asks quietly, his body leaning against Harry, his head falls against his shoulder. "I missed this," he sighs, and Harry smiles, nodding. He wants to cry, can feel it all over his skin, and pulls Louis into his side, feeling the now Louis, the before Louis is wholly gone now.

"I'm here," Louis relaxes into him, as though he just needed the reminder. Harry nods, leading him inside when everyone slowly starts walking that way. Louis saunters as they near the house, and Harry looks at him, surprised but sees his eyes crossing and fears another seizure is coming.

It takes nearly ten minutes to get him from the door to the sofa, Louis' body sinking into the plush cushions, his legs splayed unevenly as his hand continues to hold Harry's fingers.

"Do I need to phone the doctor?" Jay gasps as Louis' eyes start to flicker. The tremble is slow, starting in his fingers and moving to his arms. Then his body is stiffening, shaking, and he loses his grip on Harry's fingers. Harry manages to shift his body on his side on the sofa and leans over him, pressing his lips open, wincing as Louis' accidentally bites him.

"Get my bag," Harry says quietly, keeping his focus on Louis. It's not going to last long. He can tell when it doesn't grow worse than it is right then.

"What's the number?" Jay is asking, and Harry turns, frustrated and angry.

"No!" he cries out, startling everyone quiet. "Now give me my fucking bag," he gasps, turning back to Louis.

His fingers and arms are awkward as Harry watches him twitch and tremble, his body rocking backward and forwards. He feels the bag drop at his side and, with relief, sees it's the right one. He grabs the bottle of pills from the front pocket. Harry manages to open it with one hand, keeping the other on Louis, watching his trembling slow.

"What do I do?" Jay asks, coming to Harry's side, her hands moving over Louis' legs. Harry shakes his head, he doesn't know what to say, but he wants to leave suddenly, as though this is a reminder why he never stays in the first place.

"Just wait," Harry says finally. It takes longer than Harry expects, but Louis eventually slows, his body relaxing until his eyes are blinking open, as though he's just waking in the morning. Harry hovers, getting him to swallow the pill, and Louis does automatically, and it hits Harry how much they've had to do this lately.

"Lou," Harry says gently, waiting for Louis' eyes to move to his. "Lou, you there?"

"Yeah," he answers slowly, his eyes still blinking as he comes back to them. It was a long one, not bad, just long, and Harry knows he probably doesn't remember much of it. "Harry?" he asks slowly, and Harry nods, reaching for his hands, holding them tight over Louis' stomach.

"You're alright," Harry assures him, and Louis nods slowly, trying to shift onto his back, but Harry doesn't let him yet. He doesn't want him to have another so close as he sometimes does with the long ones, and Harry eventually lets him fall onto his back, knowing he needs to get comfortable now. He imagines he'll want to go to bed soon, even with the time difference.

"Lou?" Jay says gently and reaches like she wants Harry to move, but he doesn't yet. He needs to stay right where he is, be there for Louis because Louis needs him, not her.

"Just give him a minute," Harry says softly, and Jay nods, closing her eyes as her fingers grip around Louis' thigh.

"I'm here," Louis says quietly, and Harry nods, knowing he hates when he's talked about but not in the conversation.

"And I'm here," Harry says gently, to remind him, and after several moments, Louis nods as he knows. "Are you alright?" he asks, feeling Louis' body test out his functions. His fingers move, his toes and his knees bend a little, and then straighten.

"I need the potty," Louis says after a moment, and Harry nods, finally backing away slightly. Jay shifts like she's going to move in again, but Harry doesn't let her. She hasn't been around Louis for a long time, she doesn't know the process and how it has to go. He doesn't want Louis to be embarrassed; he can't be embarrassed in front of his family.

"Let's go," Harry says softly and hovers over the top of Louis. He slides one hand around his back, helping him sit up and then stand. Louis stumbles at first, struggling to find his balance before Harry finally gets him to take a step, moving towards the bathroom. His efforts quicken as they near the toilet, and Harry knows Louis only has a few seconds before he'll start to go. He can't remember if they put him in a helper before leaving the plane, but he thinks he didn't.

"Hazza," Louis says urgently, and Harry pushes him, practically carrying him the last feet to the toilet. He manages to get his trousers and pants lowered before Louis sits on the seat, his eyes wide with relief as he relieves himself. Harry leans over the counter, his hands gripping the porcelain, and struggles with himself and everyone outside the door. He's dreading the inevitable conversation that has to be coming after Louis drifts to sleep. They want to know everything, how he's doing, where he's hurting. Is he worse, is he better, is he going to live, is he going to- No. He's not.

"I'm done," Louis says, breaking Harry of his thought process, breaking him of the need to cry to the need to help Louis, to keep him as healthy as he can be until he can't anymore.

"Okay," Harry nods, slowly releasing his fingers off the counter and stepping back. Louis is staring up at him, his face expressionless as Harry walks towards him. "You feeling alright?" he asks when Louis hasn't moved his gaze.

"Yeah," Louis says slowly, "I think so." Harry breathes a sigh, chuckling when Louis does the same, the sounds matching.

"Can I get you ready for bed?" Harry asks as he helps Louis stand, Louis' fingers moving slow over Harry's shoulders, and Harry knows the medicine is starting to take effect then. "You look tired," he encourages.

"Can I stay up?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," Harry nods, smiling at the grin that covers Louis' face despite his closed lids. "Yeah, you can stay up as late as you want."

"Thanks," Louis manages to say, the word slow as it escapes his mouth. "M'tired," he says quietly, and Harry nods. He understands a little.

"We'll get your joggers on first, though, alright?" Harry says firmly, so Louis won't try to argue. He doesn't, though, just follows Harry as he washes his hands and flushes the toilet. Jay is outside the door waiting, her eyes wide and a smile forming when Louis grins at her.

"You want to get changed?" she asks, smiling at him. Louis nods and Harry leads Louis into her arms and follows them down the hall towards the stairs.

Harry stands directly behind Louis as they manage the trek up the stairs, Louis moving slower and slower, only an inch at a time by the time they reach the top. Harry can see the worry in Jay's face when she looks back at him, but he can't answer her, not until Louis is down for the night.

"Just joggers," Louis says when she gets him on the edge of his childhood bed. Harry hovers in the doorway as she helps him get his trousers off and has to step in when she reaches for the joggers.

"These for the night," he says quietly, pulling the protective underwear in case Louis can't make it. He has the plastic covering for the mattress, as well, but he won't put it on until Louis isn't in the room anymore.

"You sure," Jay stares at him in confusion, and Harry nods because he can't lie but can't elaborate. Louis doesn't look phased in his relaxed state, the medicine doing the trick, and Harry knows he won't have another seizure for at least twelve hours.

"Yeah," Harry responds, staring down at Louis. He's on his back now, his fingers picking at the wall behind him. Harry hates when he's like this, almost a childlike state, but still, Louis and Harry's moments have to pull himself together to hold onto this.

"Okay," Jay says quietly. Harry dodges his gaze when she slips the protective pants on, and then his joggers, only looking back when Jay and Louis are whispering.

He feels that he's intruding on their moment, but like always, he doesn't leave Louis' side. He thinks of Niall coming into town the following day and doesn't want him to now because it'll mean that Harry has to leave Louis' side. With the two seizures and a million other emotions running through his veins, Harry feels like he can't leave his side, he has to hover, he has to be the one to take care of Louis. He doesn't know anything else.

"Harry?" Louis asks, his voice small and like the child that Harry's trying to avoid. He nods and comes to Louis' side, "can I sleep in here?"

"Yes," Harry smiles, brushing Louis' hair from his eyes. "Of course you can," he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to Louis' hairline.

"M'kay, I'll stay here," Louis smiles. Harry nods, watching as Jay kisses him goodnight and departs from the room, leaving them alone. Harry leans Louis back in his bed, and with regret, remembers the mattress.

"I have to put the mattress on," Harry says gently. Louis’ eyes lose their happy spark, and Harry bites his lip, wishing he didn't have to, but doesn't want to change it with all the excitement of the day.

"Fine," Louis snaps, crawling off the bed and tumbling to the floor before Harry has the chance to reach for him. Harry steps towards him, but Louis punches him, hard, in the calf, and Harry doesn't try again.

He pulls the thick plastic covering from the bag, stretches all the bedclothes back, and fits the plastic repeatedly. It crinkles as he puts the covering back over it, and when he turns to look at Louis, he finds him asleep in the middle of the floor.

"Louis," Harry says gently, and Louis wakes up after a moment. His brow creases as though he remembers he's supposed to be angry. Harry doesn't hesitate to lift him with both arms and carries him to the bed, watching Louis shift until his comfortable. "I'm taking these out," Harry says, brushing Louis' ears, and he nods. Louis turns his head to the left, allowing him to pull the gadget from his ear, and then the right, to take the next out.

"I'm sleeping," Louis says after a moment, closing his eyes. Harry laughs softly, knowing it's one thing that's never changed, Louis' announcement about sleep. When they'd been in the band, rest was often hard to come by, and Louis would do that. He would announce he was sleeping and, no matter where they might be, he'd fall asleep in just a few seconds.

"Love you," Harry says softly before turning away. He sets up the monitors, turning each one on, before he flicks the lights off, but leaves the door open a crack. Harry waits, hesitating with the thought he might hear it back, but Louis is already asleep. And once again, Harry is alone.


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this comes across how I wanted. I spent a lot of time editing because I think the impression is incredibly vital to the overall story. Thanks everyone. The response to this has been incredible!!

Harry makes his way down the stairs to Louis’ childhood home slowly, gearing up for the inevitable interrogation. He can hear the voices, and despite the size of the group gathered in the main room, no laughter or joking. Harry stretches his back, feeling the aches and tensions, never-ending, the same as when they set in after the accident. Instead of moving forward, Harry takes a seat at the bottom of the stairs, leaning his head against the wall.

He thinks of those first days after the accident. Zayn and Liam died instantly, they said. Though it was supposed to be a help, he'd heard it then, read it in books, listened during therapy, later on, but it was never a relief. Harry thinks he should've had that chance to say goodbye, but it's never come. He's still looking down the hall sometimes, staring at the front door, waiting for one of them to enter. Despite living in a completely new place, a different town, he’s still waiting for them at times.

Niall took it better than anything, he's always thought. Niall was the softest, gentlest in the group. They all said so. There are videos of their interviews archived with strange questions, where they all said they do anything for Niall, as though he was the weakest. Harry thinks it's almost ironic that he ended up being the strongest in the end.

Though Harry cried when he first saw the ragged end of Niall's arm, what was left of it, Niall never cried in front of him. There were times when his eyes were red and swollen, as though tears lingered recently, but Niall was the anchor he needed with Louis. Despite how much it hurt to lean on him, Harry needed it, but now, years later, he wished he could've been the support that Niall needed.

Niall never asked for it, but Harry knows he probably needed it. Whoever it was for Niall, Harry wishes sometimes they could thank them, because whatever they said or did for Niall, it got him moving. After the surgeries, evening out the limb loss, Niall prepared for the prosthesis before he was ready. He moved on before they expected him to, not from Liam or Zayn necessarily, but from the accident and what had happened to him.

Then there was Louis, his poor Louis. Harry won't ever forget those first moments; just hours after Louis had stabilized, Harry was the first to enter that room. Jay was hours away, and Harry was his emergency contact, and he was the only one allowed to enter. He remembers the place where he first heard the worst.

They never expected Louis to wake up. First, they said it had to happen in a few days, then a few weeks, but then the weeks turned to months. In the end, all anyone would do was smile sadly towards Harry. They'd walk away, passing by his room without looking. He wasn't hooked up to a breathing machine. It wasn't that he couldn't breathe, but Louis just wouldn't wake up.

Harry stayed with him, day in and day out, never leaving, not once. He went outside every once in a while. Still, he stayed inside, watching Louis' visitor list fade into only one, just Harry. Jay and his sisters came every other week, but Harry could see it on their faces, they'd already given up, but he couldn't.

When Louis finally opened his eyes, Harry thought it was different then. He expected everything he'd been praying for to happen, that it would. But Louis wasn't the same. He couldn't talk, could barely lift his hand to his face. They hadn't prepared him for this, the idea that Louis would have to start over.

It took almost a year before Louis could leave the hospital. It was ages before he could walk and talk again, always looking at Harry without needing to be spoken for. That was the start, Harry thinks, the beginning of where they stand now. Now, they're stepping backward again, until Louis will be that vegetable on the bed once again, but this time, it will only be Harry to care for him. No one else.

"Harry?" He jumps at the sound of Lottie's voice and looks up to see her eyes filled with concern. "You alright?"

"Uh, yeah," he tries to smile, but it comes out awkwardly as she sits on the stair beside him. He glances at her, "I'm great, just a bit tired from the trip."

"Just the trip?" she asks quietly. Harry stares at his feet and shrugs, not bothering to hide from her. She'd offered to have Louis live with her ages ago, but he'd turned her down, always turned everyone down when they offered. It had to be him, it had to be.

"It's been tough," he admits reluctantly, his fingers folding into almost a prayer. Despite his lack of religion, it was something he'd been doing more often as of late.

"I know," she nods, moving a hand over his back, giving him the comfort he doesn't deserve. He shouldn't deserve it, but he doesn't fight it. Harry needs it more than he cares to admit.

"How are you?" Harry asks after a few moments of silence. Lottie leans her head against Harry's shoulder, and he can feel her smiling. It makes him smile in response, knowing past Louis would've loved this. Lottie was always his favorite and the one he worried the most about at the time. Louis would love to see that she's happy.

"I'm great," Lottie finally answers. She slides closer to Harry's body, and Harry rests a hand on her knee, giving it a small squeeze before pulling away, moving to stand. He stretches, his bones cracking and muscles eventually squeezing into normalcy.

"William's beautiful," Harry says after a few moments. Lottie nods and stands as well, resting her hands over her hips to stretch. Harry imagines she's just as tired, taking care of a still semi-new baby.

"Thank you," she grins. "Come on, Harry. Everyone wants to know how you're doing, you know that."

"I know," Harry sighs, following close behind her. He finds everyone in the living room, some curled on couches, others on the floor, watching the telly, others playing cards at the table in the corner.

"Harry, come in," his mum speaks, scooching on the couch to give him a space to sit. He immediately comes to her side and smiling when she wraps an arm around his waist. "You're taller, I swear it."

"Nope," he shakes his head and leans back into the sofa, glancing around. "So, how is everyone? What have I missed since last summer?"

"Well, I think Gemma's about it," his mum answers, taking his hand in two of hers. "What of you? Anything new with Louis?"

"Nope," Harry shakes his head, unsure of what to say. Everyone sort shifts at that question, as though they want to hear but are unsure how to ask. Harry sighs and rubs a hand over his face, knowing it's easier to answer the questions now and get it out of the way.

"He's doing alright," he answers the silent questions, watching as the television shuts off and the eyes turn towards him. Harry leans his head down and shrugs, trying to figure out what he should say and what he shouldn't. "They expect that within the year, he may be in a wheelchair about fifty percent of the time. The seizures are difficult but don't happen too often, just if he gets too excited or overwhelmed. We had one on the plane earlier and then one here, well, you saw."

"I noticed the hearing aids," Jay says quietly, and Harry looks up, sees the tears in his sister's eyes.

"That's not too bad," Harry reasons, wrapping his arms around his chest. "The doctor's told us that he'd need them eventually."

"I didn't think it'd be this soon," Phoebe says quietly, and Harry shrugs, unsure what to say to appease her sadness.

"He wets himself a lot," Harry says softly, knowing he should warn them. It’s in case he's not around when he should be. "Well, not a lot, but enough, I guess."

"Is it that bad?" Daisy asks this time, sitting up on her knees to look up at Harry.

"No, it's not," Harry tries to smile but can't with the current conversation. "The anger's about the same, his sight is a bit worse, but the ophthalmologist has said it's not as bad as they expected at this point. However, his hearing is worse, so I'm not sure. He uses a walker or a cane, the cane more often, but he needs the walker more than he admits, so I usually have to remind him to use it."

"How are you doing?" Gemma asks after a few moments. Harry looks to her in surprise and shrugs, unsure how to answer the question.

"I'm great," Harry says quickly, "I'm glad to be home."

"No, you're not," she shakes her head, laughing emptily. "Harry, we all know how much you hate this part, telling us about Louis, about you, about anything important."

"Gems," his mum warns, but Harry shakes his head, patting her knee gently.

"She's right," Harry concedes. "It's getting harder, but I don't know what else to say about it. Louis is frustrated, but he's okay. He still laughs. I think he's happy even, so that's important."

"It's great getting to see you again," Jay says gently. "And I don't just mean for Louis, but you too. You're taking care of him so well, Harry."

"I suppose," he says with a shrug. "I just don't know if I'm doing it right or not."

"You are," she says with a smile. "Should we play cards now? Or do you need to lie down?" Harry glances around the group and knows he should stay, but he wants to be upstairs with Louis.

"I am pretty tired," he admits, and everyone begins to shift into what they were doing before he entered the room. "Thanks," he says awkwardly, unsure what to say.

Without saying anything else, Harry leans to kiss his mum's cheek and leaves the room. He walks up the stairs, tension fading at the thought of lying beside Louis again. It's only here that he allows it, but he suddenly aches for it, knows how much better he sleeps with Louis beside him.

He checks the bed when he gets inside the bedroom, but he feels that Louis will be fine and won't have to worry about waking up to a wet spot in the bed. Harry slips his trousers off but leaves his shirt on and climbs in beside Louis on the tiny bed. Louis is snoring softly, his face calm and peaceful as he sleeps, and Harry leans close, smiling as Louis curls into him, as though he knows Harry is there beside him.

Harry wraps an arm around Louis' waist, presses his palm firm against Louis' chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Pressing a kiss against the back of his neck, Harry breathes in deep, closing his eyes and just remembering everything he promises to forget.

"Harry," Louis murmurs softly. Harry stiffens but relaxes again after a moment. He wonders if Louis is sleeping, but he whispers, "I like it like this."

"Like what?" Harry says quietly, unable to stop himself from brushing his lips along the back of Louis' neck.

"Just this," Louis says quietly, and Harry wonders if he's talking in his sleep. His voice sounds different, loose as though he's been drinking, but a clarity he so often doesn't have. "I look forward to this," he says quieter, "when we get here."

"Me too," Harry admits, closing his eyes. He leans his forehead against the center of Louis' back and breathes deep.

He doesn't say more but feels Louis relax, falling back asleep. Harry tries, but it's a long time before he can drift too. When he awakes in the morning, Louis is awake, but he's in the same spot he was the night before, curled in Harry's arm.

“Hi,” Louis says without looking back at him. Harry smiles, pressing his head against Louis’ shoulder, and pats his chest gently. He doesn’t respond, knows Louis can’t hear him without his hearing aids in, but the want is there, hope that he understands it all.

“Time to get up,” Harry mumbles to himself, pulling away. Louis turns on his back and kicks the blankets away, lying with a goofy look on his face.

“M’hungry,” he says, his voice liquid-smooth, slow as it escapes his lips. Harry can’t help but smile, grabbing his clothes from the bag. He pulls them on, thinking about a shower, but deciding against it, knowing Louis is going to need one.

“You’re getting a bath first,” Harry shouts. Louis looks towards him but blinks several times, his eyes confused, but his face unchanging. He doesn’t bother to repeat it but grabs the cane that’s in the corner and brings it to the edge of the bed for Louis to use when he stands up.

“I don’t want it,” Louis groans, swatting his hands against the bed in response. He keeps patting, and Harry turns to get Louis’ clothes out of the bag as he continues his slow tantrum.

“All right,” Harry says, leaving the room and bringing the clothes into the bathroom down the hall. He starts the shower, so it’ll be warm by the time they return and goes back to find Louis trying to stand on his own. Harry stands back, trying to decide if he can do it on his own or if he should jump in to help.

Considering the night before, Louis would usually need Harry’s help, but he manages to climb out of bed himself. Harry can see his pants are damp from sometime during the night, and sighs sadly, remembering how he wished the night before was not like it was. But deep down, Harry knew it wasn’t ever going to be like it was in the past.

“You okay?” Harry asks when Louis’ eyes meet his, knowing he might understand despite not hearing him. Louis nods and follows him back down the hall to the bathroom. Harry locks the door behind Louis and watches him sit on the toilet.

“Is it hot?” Louis asks loudly, distractedly taking off the disposable pants. Harry doesn’t bother to respond because Louis isn’t looking at him anyway.

“Put your hand in,” Harry says, leading Louis’ hand underneath the water. Louis nods and slowly steps in, and Harry questions following him in but decide against it. He really doesn’t want Jay to know how much help Louis needs anymore.

He sets Louis’ soap and shampoo on the edge of the tub and leans back against the counter. When Louis begins to sing, Harry smiles and sits on the counter to listen.

He taps his fingers to the beat that Louis can still hold, despite everything. It amazes Harry how Louis never lost that part of him. Even back when he couldn’t talk, he still hummed and listened to music all the time.

“Harry?” Louis asks, stopping his song. Harry jumps down and puts a hand into the curtain, knowing Louis won’t hear him if he yells. “Where’s the shampoo?” Harry picks it up and hands it to him, waiting a moment until Louis presses it back into his palm.

He leans against the edge of the wall until Louis shuts the water, waiting for him. Closing his eyes, Harry thinks of the night before and can feel the emotions rising up all over again. He releases several deep breaths as Louis opens the curtain, and Harry listens to him, toweling himself off.

When they get downstairs, Harry is surprised to see that they’re the first awake. Louis takes a seat at the table, immediately moving to adjust the centerpiece. Some of the flower petals had fallen to the wood, making it look quite sad rather than brightening the room as it was intended. He looks up to see Harry watching him, and he smiles, and Harry finds his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he searches for things to say.

Things are rarely silent, but he knows they rarely have actual conversations. It makes him look forward to his nights with Niall, as rare as they are, but he knows it’s his fault, not Niall’s. Instead of keeping his focus on Louis, Harry moves to the refrigerator, searching for breakfast items. He knows Louis will want eggs and toast, at the very least.

“Hazza?” Louis asks suddenly, bringing Harry away from the food. Louis is curled into himself, one hand lifting up awkwardly by his face, as the other grips the edge of the table. Harry rushes to his side, his eyebrow furrowed as he struggles to figure out what’s wrong with Louis.

Harry feels that familiar pang of regret, worry, and neverending fear that builds and builds when things like this happen. Louis keeps his eyes on Harry, anxiety, and needs filling him. He hates this part more than anything, those moments when Louis is fully conscious and aware he’s different.

In some ways, it feels the old Louis is there with him, but he’s locked inside a body that’s falling apart. Like everyone says, it’s a miracle Louis survived. It’s a miracle he can talk, walk, act like a bloody human instead of a vegetable, but it never stops the ache of grief. Harry doesn’t think he can ever escape it.

“Just relax,” Harry says softly, his fingers easing over Louis’ to pull his hand from the edge of the table. A shiver runs down his spine as he feels Louis’ nails scrape along with the wood as he forces his hand away.

Once Louis’ hand is free, it curls into a fist, and his wrist bends forward, his arm stiff and robust, and Harry can’t free it. He lifts his hands to cup Louis’ cheeks, feeling his jaw tense and calm in uneven intervals. Louis watches him, and Harry moves his thumbs along the edge of his face, breathing slowly so Louis will follow him, do what he does.

“Breathe,” Harry whispers, and Louis’ gaze flickers to his lips. He’s not listening to him, but he’s acknowledging he’s there. “Just breathe,” Harry says gently, trying to focus on Louis and where he put his muscle relaxers at the same time. They’re only for as-needed usage, and Harry can’t help the twist in his gut as he realizes he should have known to give them to Louis the night before.

“Okay,” Louis whispers, his voice thick through his barely moving lips. Harry brushes Louis’ hair from his face, his fingers continuing to move along the skin as Louis slowly begins to relax.

Harry feels his chest begin to loosen when Louis’ does. It still amazes him how much it hurts to see Louis in pain. He wants to take all of it away from Louis, but at the same time, he can’t let go of everything he has in Louis. He may not be the best with words, he never was, but with Louis beside him, he feels so much.

“I okay,” Louis says to Harry with eyes growing wide. Harry recognizes this Louis easily, as though he’s shifted into a different person entirely, more like a child than an adult. This side of Louis is the one that will tap to his heart’s content. This Louis will run when he can barely move his legs, tumble and hurt himself, but laugh all while doing it.

In some ways, Harry likes this Louis better. He’s more comfortable to hide behind when his eyes are boring into Harry’s soul. He brings every emotion, feeling, swear he’s whispered for the last ten years to the surface, the exact place he never wants them to be again.

“You’re okay,” Harry says gently, slowly removing his hands. Louis’ fists begin to loosen, and he can drop his hands down by his legs again. Louis’ eyes flicker around the room, and Harry watches him. It’s as though he can’t decide what he wants, the way his thoughts and eyes move around every little piece of furniture.

“Is Niall coming yet?” Louis asks, his voice airy as he stares through the windows. Harry swallows thickly but doesn’t answer, unsure if Louis remembers or actually questioning Niall’s coming presence.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, scooting his chair back loud enough to hear it scrape against the tile of the floor. It shakes Louis, and he turns to Harry with a wide grin, his eyes filled with mischief, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“I hungry,” Louis responds.

“Okay,” Harry nods, finally moving away from Louis enough to breathe. He doesn’t know what it is, maybe being back in England where it all started, where they began, but it hurts. It aches to know Harry can’t have Louis like he wants. It’s as if he’s stuck in the world’s worst game of unrequited love, as though someone is over him, watching, waiting, for that moment when he finally cracks.

“Oh, you’re cooking?” Jay asks, and Harry nearly jumps in surprise. He turns from the bowl of half whisked eggs to watch her approaching Louis. She bends over him, cooing and smiling goofily, and he responds just the way she wants him to, just as happy and stupid as she is.

“Just eggs,” Harry responds when she turns her head to look at him. She purses her lips like she wants to say something, but much to Harry’s relief, she stays silent and goes back to cooing over Louis.

The rest of the house slowly wakes, and by the time the clock clicks over nine, everyone is up and moving about. The house is not meant for the number of people it’s currently holding, but Harry isn’t surprised. Jay does this every time they come home. It makes Harry want to go back more often, knowing how much she misses Louis, but at the same time, he can’t.

When his mum enters, she and Gemma take over the cooking, and Harry finds a seat at the table across from Louis. Harry almost wishes they’d let him help, instead of forcing him to watch the girls fawn over their children, feeding and playing with the babies.

Harry feels a hole growing inside his chest, and it grows as Gemma’s husband enters and takes over Edward's care. Lottie’s husband joined long enough to kiss her cheek and leave to meet up with some of his friends for the day. It was all so happy and jovial, as Christmas always used to be, but it’s not for Harry.

“Haz,” Gemma breaks his thoughts, making him look towards her. Her eyes flicker to Louis, and Harry’s eyes grow wide at the sight of Louis’ hands twitching again.

“Christ,” Harry curses himself, realizing he’d never given Louis the pills he’d meant to. He immediately walks over to him, but Louis isn’t too bad yet. Louis stares up at him, and Harry leans forward, forcing Louis’ eyes to look at his. It takes several seconds before Harry can see Louis recognizes him. Harry watches him begin to retract, slowly relaxing again.

“Stay quiet,” he says to Lottie, turning his head briefly to see her nod, “just talk like you’re talking to William.”

“Okay,” she nods. Harry knows they’ve been through moments like this with Louis, but they get too upset, upsetting Louis in the process, and then they have to start all over again.

Harry swiftly leaves the room, ignoring anyone he passes, focusing on Louis and getting his pills. He can’t help the anger he feels, pissed at himself for not remembering the blasted medicine a second time. It’s not him he hurts by this, but Louis, Louis who can’t help any of the things his body does to him.

“Harry,” his mom speaks, and Harry glances back briefly as he rifles through his travel bag, eventually finding the pouch containing all of Louis’ pills. He sets it up on the dresser, moving past each prescription bottle until he finally finds the one he’s searching for.

“What?” Harry asks when he realizes that she hasn’t moved from her perch beside the door. He lifts his gaze enough to know that she wants to talk, but he doesn’t. He moves forward, but she hasn’t budged, and he groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

“Later,” she concedes, and Harry nods. As he leaves the room, he glances back to see her watching him, concern filling her features. It’s the same every time she’s concerned, and he has to promise that he’ll do better, be happy because that’s all she wants for him.

When he was younger, Harry loved that they could have silent conversations. On his trips home, they’d sit at night by the fire, neither speaking much, but it was enough just to be home. They can still have those silent conversations where they understand each other, but Harry wishes he didn’t’ have it quite as much as he did. Harry wishes he could hide how he feels, but anymore, he’s not sure where to hide, who exactly he’s hiding from.

In a way, it might be what Dr. Robeson has been trying to get Harry to do for a long time, release Louis. Maybe Louis would be better with his mum, or one of his sisters. Still, Harry can’t imagine not being right there to know precisely what Louis needs when he does, it’s what Harry if for now, and he can’t give that up.

“Oh, good,” He hears Phoebe as he enters the room. Harry reaches for Louis and recognizes the sudden calm that fills Louis when he touches his shoulder. Harry nearly smiles at the realization. He crouches and opens the bottle, taking a pill and pressing it to Louis’ tongue.

He waits for it to dissolve on his own, not wanting to bother with water right now. Louis’ hands are tense, like before, but they’re starting to shake. His eyes are wide, stuck on Harry, and he cups Louis’ cheeks like before, feels the quiver of his jaw. It takes longer this time to calm Louis, but eventually, he’s blinking up at him in sated relief.

“He’s okay,” Harry says gently, knowing that it’s what everyone is waiting to hear, even the ones that have left, giving them space. Louis leans his head forward and blinks several times, each slower than the last. He’s going to take a short nap, Harry thinks maybe an hour, and then he’ll wake again, better than ever.

“I want to go lie down,” Louis says slowly, the words drawing together as he licks his lips. Each movement is slow and precise, as though Louis has to process each part carefully.

“Your room?” Harry asks but knows Louis will say no. He almost laughs when Louis starts to shake his head, his eyes flickering in the direction of the living room. Harry nods and watches Louis stand up. He flexes each leg, moving it side to side and back again before starting to walk.

There’s a part of Harry that just wants to pick Louis up and fix it for him, walk him where he needs to be, to do everything for him, but at the same time, Harry sucks on the knowledge that he can’t. He has to let Louis be everything he can until he can’t anymore. The thought of it never hurts any less than the first time he thought about it, the doctor telling him first and then his mind next.

When Louis lies on the couch, Harry immediately goes to sit by his feet, prepared to rub away his calves' tightness, but his mother has other plans. She’s already got a backup, someone to take Harry’s place, do precisely what he was going to do as she pulls him from the room. They end up in the coatroom, and Harry follows her lead, putting on his winter coat and boots.

“Where are we going?” Harry asks when they’re outside. Anne shrugs, her hair falling in her face as she begins to walk towards the road.

“Let’s just walk,” she says finally, and Harry nods, agreeing. They stay in silence as she turns down the beaten path, half wet, the other half covered in lingering snow. They’re simply white patches, scattered along the edges of the road, and Harry makes a point to step in as many as he can.

“I remember,” his mum starts speaking, her voice quiet, “when you first auditioned, you remember how I didn’t want you to do it?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You eventually did, obviously,” she laughs awkwardly. “I remember the first day when you came home with me, and you talked of everything you wanted out of the audition.”

“I wanted to win,” Harry shrugs, stepping away from her.

“No,” she shook her head. Harry stiffens when she wraps an arm around his waist but allows himself to be pulled close. “You wanted someone to tell you that you were good.”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugs, letting his shoulders sag as his mum pulls him closer. They’ve stopped walking, he realizes when she pulls him in for a hug.

“Then you met Louis,” she says quietly, and Harry glances quickly to see her smiling, something he doesn’t expect.

“I did,” Harry finally says, unsure if she’s going to say more.

“He didn’t just tell you were good,” she smiles, patting his cheek, “he made you believe it. Can you believe I was jealous?”

“Why were you jealous?” Harry scoffs in surprise.

“Because I’d been telling you for years that you were destined for greatness,” she answers, moving back and starts to walk again. “Louis took one look at you, and that was it.”

“It was not,” Harry rolls his eyes but smiles, “you make it out like it was love at first sight.”

“Not exactly,” she says thoughtfully. “I think it was as close as you could get, though,” she answers slowly, as though carefully choosing her words.

“Mum, we didn’t get together until like a year later,” Harry reasons, making his mother break into laughter. Harry is surprised at how easily he follows her.

“I know that,” she smiles, tucking an arm around his as they walk, “but it doesn’t mean you weren’t already.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry grins, feeling his cheeks warm at the memories. In the beginning, when everything was secret and hidden, and he stops smiling when he remembers how their future was supposed to work.

“But when you started X-Factor, you said you were still going to have the same dreams,” she says, her voice growing sad, “You wanted a family, you wanted to sing and have that life too.”

“Mum, everything is fine,” Harry says quietly, not willing to look at her. Instead found the trees across the road more interesting than anything standing beside him.

“I don’t think you are,” she sighs, leaning her head against Harry’s arm. “Louis is only getting worse, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, sucking in a breath. He feels his eyes wet with tears and quickly blinks, ready to blame the crisp air if needed.

“You’re so bitter, is that the right word?” she says, but Harry doesn’t dare answer her. He feels his chest tighten with her words, the punch in the gut so strong as she continues. “You used to be happy when Louis started to get better. Every improvement put a smile on your face, and it was like the old Harry was coming back to us.”

“I’m not going to be the same,” Harry reasons, his voice sharper than he intends, and she looks up to him, staring pointedly.

“But the problem is,” she says, her tone just as fierce, “that you aren’t even living anymore. Louis is broken, pieced together, and you are just like him. You two are pulling each other down, and neither of you realizes it. Louis can’t because—”

“No,” Harry shakes his head, pulling away, unwilling to hear what she might’ve said, might’ve implied. He runs a hand roughly through his hair and groans when it gets stuck in the curls.

“Harry, stop,” she says sharply, and he can’t help but listen to her, his mother. He turns, his chest heaving as she stops in front of him.

“What?” he gasps, trying to breathe through the cold air and everything that’s strangling him. “What else do you have to say about Louis?”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” she sighs. “Harry, you know he’s not going to get better, yet you refuse to let us in. You’ve been pushing everyone away, for so long I ignored it, but I can’t anymore.”

“Why?” Harry asks, feeling weak instead of angry like he had moments before. “Why can’t you just let this go?”

“Because what’s going to happen to you?” she whispers, stepping closer. “What’s going to happen to you when Louis is gone?”

Harry stares at her, his mouth open in surprise, unable to respond to what she’s said. He thinks of the doctor’s office a few days before, and his question that was never answered, and now, his mum is answering it for him. They don’t know how long Louis has, but if the seizures worsen or God forbid, Harry isn’t there, who knows what could happen to him.

“Louis is fine,” Harry finally manages to say, but he can’t fully speak the words because he knows how far they are from the truth.

“He’s not,” she whispers, shaking her head. Harry can see the tears filling her eyes, so many emotions in her eyes, fear, worry, sadness, everything he feels every day.

“I’ll be fine,” Harry whispers, sniffling as he wraps his arms over his chest.

“You won’t,” she manages to say, “Not if you don’t admit it.”

“Admit what?” Harry asks softly, not bearing to understand what she’s saying but knows his mum, knows she won’t give up until she says exactly what she’s thinking.

“Louis can’t help it,” she answers quietly, her eyes falling to the ground. Harry watches her kick a rock with her toe, the wind howling softly against his ears. “He needs you, he needs someone to help him, to care for him as you have.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Harry asks, barely managing to speak the words. He lifts his gaze, his eyes wet and his cheeks damp, but he refuses to admit he’s crying.

“I want you to realize you’re not alone,” she says gently. She takes a step towards him, but Harry immediately steps back. “You’re barely living, Harry,” she says softly, “your entire being lives and breathes with Louis… what are you going to do when he’s gone? What will you live for then?”

“I’ll find something,” Harry mutters, turning from her and wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. “You can’t just—you can’t.”

“I can’t what?” she asks with a quiet scoff, “I can’t worry about my child, my own flesh and blood. I can’t fear every time I see him because he looks more sunken in, a mere glimpse of the boy he was ten years ago.”

“Things change, mum,” Harry cries out. His voice feels rough, and he steps back, shaking his head, “No one would even believe that half my best mates would be gone in a second. No one knew that Niall would never play guitar again or that Louis wouldn’t fucking remember everything. No one knew it! No one! So don’t stand there and act like it’s some fucking inconvenience.”

“Thank you,” his mum smiles suddenly, and Harry is taken aback, wants to sit as she starts to walk back to Jay’s house.

“What the hell?” Harry asks, and she turns, though her smile is gone, her eyes seem suddenly lighter.

“This is all I wanted. I want my Harry who will fight again,” she says, reaching for him, but Harry isn’t ready for comfort. “Fine, be angry with me, but you’ve got to let go of what happened, you know that, right?”

“Just like I’m supposed to let go of Louis?” Harry asks incredulously.

“Yes,” she responds slowly, closing her eyes. “I can’t imagine what that feels like,” she says softly, staring up at Harry, “but yes. You need to let it go.”

“Why?” Harry manages to say. His chest feels so tight with the overwhelming conversation. Still, he suddenly needs her like he hasn’t in so long.

“So you can move on, Harry,” She reaches to cup his cheek, and he finally lets her, leaning into her touch after a few moments. He closes his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose. Still, the wetness in his eyes grows, continuing to thicken until he can’t help the tears that spill over.

“Come here,” she says gently, but it’s enough to pull Harry out of it.

“No,” he shakes his head, wiping roughly at his cheeks. Harry steps away from her outstretched fingers and turns. “No! You can’t do this. He’s fine. He’s fucking fine, and you can’t make me not believe it.”

“You have to,” her voice pleads, “you have to realize he’s not going to live forever. You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?!” Harry screams, his body aching from the tension, the volume, the ache of everything he can’t hold onto, everything he can’t let go of. “Taking care of him? What’s so wrong with that?”

“You are so wrapped up in him,” she cries out, her voice just as loud, “you don’t have anything else, Harry. You’ve shoved everyone else away. What’s going to happen when that’s all you have left?”

“I can take care of myself,” he hisses, starting the walk back towards the house. Harry can’t help the anger, the resentment building in his chest. He continues to wipe at the tears that linger in his eyes, trying to rid himself of all of them, but they keep coming, more vigorous as he nears Jay’s house.

By the time he reaches the front door, he can’t help the sobs that threaten to escape. He sits on the front step and lets his head fall against his arms, the tears spilling over. His body is shaking with it, the want to stop, the need to let it out, to release everything that stays inside him all the time.

Harry jumps at the hand on his shoulder, and he opens his eyes enough to see his mum’s boots. When she pulls him towards her, he doesn’t fight it. She moves a hand into Harry’s hair, and then he’s leaning against her, one hand gripping her jacket, the other holding onto himself.

“I can’t lose him,” he manages to say. He doesn’t know if she responds, but he knows that he might not want to know what she says. It feels like a hole in the center of him, growing wider with each day, and now he’s finally falling in, fading away from everything he’s ever loved.

“He loves you so much,” his mum says softly, and Harry nods because he knows. “He loves you, but he’s not ever going to love you like you need him to again.”

“I know,” Harry nods against her, the shaking in his body making him sweat and itch under his jacket, and he has the urge to throw it off despite the cold.

“But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t,” she continues, her fingers rubbing soothing circles against his scalp. “I don’t want you to think you need to get rid of Louis, but you need to realize that you can have other people in your life. They aren’t going to leave.”

“You can’t promise that,” Harry whispers, pull back enough to rest his head on her shoulders. “You can’t promise me that no one else is going to die or just decide that I’m too much for them.”

“Robin didn’t leave because of you, Harry,” she says quietly, and Harry nods but doesn’t say more. He can’t risk it. He stays at her side, holding onto her, creating a lifeline in her, even if it’s just for the day or the few days they’re staying.

“I’m not going to stop taking care of him,” Harry states defiantly. He feels his mother stiffen beside him, her fingers pausing briefly over his head.

“I don’t want you to,” she says quietly, “but it’s alright to accept help. It’s okay to go out without Louis. It’s okay to _live_.”

“I can’t,” Harry shakes his head, finally pulling back from her. She opens her mouth to speak, but Harry beats her to it, “I did this to him, mum. I can’t leave him to suffer through it.” There’s a long silence before she finally speaks, and Harry is surprised when she doesn’t yell, halfway expecting it.

“Do you think he’s happy?” she asks quietly. Harry turns his head towards the front door, despite knowing he can’t see through it. He sees Louis’ face in the morning, his face during the laughter spells and giggling fits when he refuses to control himself. But he also sees Louis’ face when he’s on the bathroom floor, in too much pain to stand up, too much effort to make it to the toilet.

“No,” Harry shakes his head, his eyes never leaving hers, “I think he’s as happy as he can get but overall? I don’t think he’s happy.”

“I think you’re wrong,” she says quietly. She stands up, and Harry doesn’t bother to argue, to point out every flaw in her theory, but he knows that he knows Louis better than any of them. And he knows Louis happy, and he knows Louis sad, and that Louis inside isn’t any of those, he’s just like Harry, existing enough to get by.


	4. Part Four

Harry sits for a long time after his mum goes back inside. He knows Louis is still sleeping, which is a relief, but he knows that Louis will wake up and feel lost now. The conversation with his mum has him shaken, and he barely had a hold on himself before.

When his knees start shaking from the cold, Harry finally goes into the house. He takes his time to slip off his jacket and shoes, but he’s so cold that he questions just leaving them on for a while. Harry can’t hold in surprise at the sight of the tea waiting for him on the table, Louis grinning beside it.

“I made you tea,” he smiles, his eyes waiting for Harry to respond, but he can’t yet. He sits down carefully, glancing to ensure they’re alone before giving Louis a smile he’s waiting for.

“Thank you,” Harry says finally, wrapping his numb fingers around the mug, letting its warmth fill him up. Louis is still watching him, but Harry doesn’t lift his gaze; instead, he focuses on the liquid's heat.

“Is Niall coming?” Louis asks, and Harry looks up to see him distracted, one hand tapping on the table, the other in his mouth, teeth biting at his nails. Harry nearly reaches over to stop the tapping, out of habit anymore. He pauses, deciding to just let Louis be.

“Yeah, he’ll be around later,” Harry says quietly, not sure if Louis could hear him but not checking to see either. He’s suddenly unsure how to act around Louis. Everything before is too much, or whatever point his mum was trying to make.

“Breakfast was good,” Louis says, his eyes flickering around again. Harry nods and starts down at his hands, wondering when Louis will start talking for real. He almost smiles at the thought, realizing how he leads into conversations, as though he isn’t sure how Harry will react.

“Are you going to make dinner?” Harry asks, glancing at him, biting his lip to hide his smile when Louis quickly shakes his head, his face scrunching at the thought.

“I’ll do the dishes,” he says, as though it’s a fair compromise. Harry shakes his head and looks down, watching as the steam from his cup of tea slowly dissipates into the warm air. His body has almost completely stopped shaking, but he still feels the cold stuck in his bones, making him shiver every few minutes.

“Liver and Onions for dinner then?” Harry asks, and Louis groans loudly in disgust. “Um, yams and mushrooms, mixed together.”

“Ew, no,” Louis scrunches up his nose and shakes his head, laughing at the atrocious meals Harry is purposefully suggesting. “How about Garlic Chicken?”

“No Chinese,” Harry says, shuddering at Louis’ reaction to the food. Harry nearly jumps as Louis presses into his side, his head falling to Harry’s shoulder.

“Will you sing with me?” Louis says suddenly, making Harry turn to him in surprise.

“Why?” Harry asks, “Where did this come from?”

“I watched a video of us,”’ he says softly, dropping his gaze, “Of One Direction.” Harry nods and swallows thickly, unsure of how to initially respond, but knows Louis is waiting for him to say something, anything.

“Which video?” Harry asks, his voice rough against his suddenly dry throat. Louis grins mischievously and grips Harry’s wrist, trying to pull him through the table. The living room is empty when they tumble in. Louis nearly at his knees, but Harry doesn’t try to help him.

“Oh,” Harry breathes when Louis hands him the book, one from the dumpster, he’s sure by the amount of wear and tear it’s been through. Harry immediately sits back on the sofa, letting the seat's soft cushion envelop him and bring him back to the moment of the video.

It was one of their last concerts together, and Harry can’t help the tears that fill his eyes at the memory. But it’s nothing compared to the moment he lifts his eyes, finding Louis crying nearly as much as Harry or maybe even more.

Watching him, Harry can see Louis coming back from the night before, and he’s not sure what to say, if anything. Harry scoots closer to him and carefully drapes an arm over his shoulder, trying to remind him he’s not alone. Louis lifts his head, and Harry can see the confusion on his face, as though he doesn’t know why he’s so affected.

It’s a belated thought that Harry realizes he probably doesn’t. He’s seen it before, Louis’ shaken breath when they ran into fans, and then his ongoing high for ages afterward, the same it used to be when they were still famous. Anymore, Harry wishes they didn’t have the fame over their heads. When they are recognized, it’s more awkward than anything else.

Harry thinks of the girl on the plane and what Louis did for her. It’s almost a reminder of the Louis he used to know, compared to the one he knows now. With a sigh, Harry falls further into the sofa. If he closes his eyes, Harry can almost imagine everyone is there, waiting for him.

“I miss them too,” Louis says suddenly, making Harry open his eyes wide. He turns to see Louis observing him, his eyes guarded as they always are when he’s aware.

“What do you miss about them?” Harry asks quietly, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Louis return to Louis child.

“I miss their jokes,” Louis says, and Harry can hear the stutter in his voice. It’s like he’s saying one thing, and his body is saying another. It’s like he can’t decide if what he’s remembering is real or pretend.

“Me too,” Harry finally decides on saying. He wants to reach out to Louis but doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes closed, not bothering to speak until he has nothing left to hide.

“Mum is upset,” Louis says after a long silence. Harry opens his eyes, turning briefly to stare at him but knows Louis will get flustered if he realizes he’s being watched. Harry wants to hear what Louis has to say.

“Why was she upset?” Harry asks, gently prodding him to say me. It’s important to him, he realizes, and he opens his eyes to see Louis shrug.

“You take care of me,” Louis says softly, tapping at Harry’s leg with his knuckles. “You make me happy when I’m sick or sad or anything really. Is that wrong?”

“No,” Harry answers quickly, watching as Louis nods in confused understanding. “It’s not wrong, Lou,” he says quietly, feeling the need to speak with Jay before they leave. Louis’ birthday is in just a few days, and he’ll be damned if someone ruins that day for Louis.

“Are you happy, Hazza?” Louis asks, and when Harry meets his gaze, he sees the childlike curiosity lingering in his eyes. Sometimes it starts to fade, but right now, it’s so strong he doesn’t think he could ever not love him.

“I’m happy right now,” Harry nods, wanting to say more, but he can’t over the lump growing in the back of his throat.

“I’m happy, too,” Louis grins, leaning back with a slow sigh. Harry watches him, unable to look away, and wants to laugh at how Louis looks. He’s so relaxed, like the stresses of the world have finally fallen around him. Harry remembers how that feels, believes he does anyway, and thinks of their last proper holiday.

As the band grew, it became harder to hide from everyone, but they spent their Christmas together. After the new year, they spent a few days in Spain, hidden away together at the beach. Zayn had someone, Liam, too, while Harry and Louis had each other. Niall was the odd man out, but you never felt it with him.

They agreed that they would spend it doing whatever they wanted during the day, but the nights were for each other. They sat around a campfire, talking and drinking, relaxing and hiding the way the world showed them how. Harry remembers sitting in Louis’ arms, thinking that it was it. Their entire world was right there around the fire.

He felt invincible then, as though no one was capable of taking it all away. It turns out, all it takes is a little beer and a sixteen-year-old kid with his daddy’s car. Sometimes, he thinks of that girl, wonders what she did after getting out of jail, if she still thinks of Zayn and Liam, of Niall’s arm, Louis’ brain. Does she know what she cost them, even now, ten years later?

In some ways, Harry hopes it haunts her. In others, he hopes she’s found some sort of redemption. Either way, Harry’s sure she never forgot, maybe just to believe that she was a decent person underneath her terrible mistake. He knows it could’ve been anyone else, still prays for that, but it was her. He remembers being sixteen, but at that time, he was falling in love with Louis.

“You’re sad, Harry,” Louis says, breaking Harry of his vicious memories. He looks up, opening his mouth to speak. Harry doesn’t, watching the emotions flicker across Louis’ features. Louis is confused, probably wondering why he is, doesn’t understand it, but Harry does. It’s the same he feels for Louis, but he knows, can name his emotions like Louis can’t anymore.

“A little,” he admits, finally reaching to grasp Louis’ fingers. Harry knows he’s cold sometimes, too harsh, and starts to yell when he’s frustrated, but it’s just to hold himself back. When Louis comes back to him, just snippets anymore, Harry longs to fall into that person he used to be.

“I’ll help you,” Louis smiles. He pulls his hand from Harry’s and rests it on his leg, his eyes shifting down, and when he looks back up, he’s confused again. Harry never knows what to say then, wondering if there is any way to explain what’s going in his mind. His body remembers things, and it used to be very difficult to pull away when Louis clung to him.

Harry hears a knock at the door, shaking him of his reverie, and someone gets it when he feels too weak at the moment to do it. To his surprise, Niall is there, greeting him with a wave of his good arm. The smile that forms is genuine, and he feels such a relief at the sight of him coming over unexpectedly. He knew he'd be there for Louis’ party, but that wasn’t until the following day.

“You’re here,” Niall says when Harry stands, rushing to him. He easily wraps his arms around Niall’s frame, lost in the moment that it’s someone who knows. Louis is there quickly enough, but he’s lost in the comfortable silence that he and Niall share for a moment, knowing Niall understands him like no one else.

“We’re here,” Harry confirms against his best mate’s ear, sighing contentedly as he pulls away and backs off, glancing to Louis. They share a gaze, and then Louis shoves into Niall’s body, hugging him firmly around his middle. Niall releases a bit of laughter, and Harry smiles at the sound, realizing how much he’s missed it.

It's normal to keep things to himself, to contain Louis. With that, Harry knows he’s left everyone else behind, Niall included. Sure, they talk and chat from time to time, but it’s never until they come home that he remembers how much he needs his former bandmate as an ally. The resentment and anger fade with Niall’s presence, and he sighs when Louis pulls back, stumbling without something to hold on to.

“You alright?” Niall asks with concern lacing his tone. Harry knows immediately it’s going to upset Louis and sighs, watching the look cross his face.

“M’fine,” Louis mumbles, trying to shove off Harry’s hold on his arm, but then stumbles over his feet a second time. This time, he allows Harry to lead him towards the sofa, and he falls into the cushions, releasing a huff of air as he does.

Harry stands up straight, staring down at him and considering what will take the scowl from his features. Before he can do anything, though, Lottie and Gemma appear, the kids not far behind, and Louis is immediately entranced, all forgotten once again. He and Gemma share a quick gaze, short because Harry looks away from the look she gives him.

“Louis, do you want to play?” Lottie asks, and Harry recognizes the caution in her voice. It’s as though she doesn’t know what to say, sometimes how Harry feels with Louis. He never wants to upset the man, but Harry often knows what he needs when Louis doesn’t.

“We’re good for now,” Gemma says after a moment of silence. Harry realizes he’s not said anything and glances at Niall, seeing the pain in his features. He looks to see Harry watching. His face immediately reaffirms into something more jovial, as though he’s pretending to be happy to see Louis.

Harry gestures toward Niall, and they walk through the hall, neither saying a word until they’re seated on the heated porch. He doesn’t want to break the silence, to hear the same things his family has been saying. He doesn’t want to hear all that’s true because he can’t face it. Not yet.

“Tell me,” Niall speaks up, being the first to break the tense silence, and Harry shrugs because Niall knows. He talks to him more than anyone outside Louis, and Niall knows how Louis is genuinely doing, which isn’t well compared to a year or two before.

“What do you want to hear?” Harry asks softly, feeling defiant at the moment, and he hates himself for the sudden tears that fill his eyes. The door is shut, and he knows no one will come in, but still, he can’t bear the thought of crying over Louis again. Being home always does this to Harry, forces him to face all that he should. But deep down, he can’t handle it.

“Harry,” Niall says, his tone stern, and Harry nods in understanding.

“Not great,” he finally speaks, saying more than he cares to admit, and he looks over at his friend, refusing to allow the tears to fall from his eyes.

“What happened with the doctors the other day?” Niall asks, and Harry shrugs weakly, “You promised you’d call.” Harry bites down on his lip and faces forward again, wiping at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. He sniffles, unable to help it as he considers his reasons for avoiding the doctor’s words.

“No real change,” Harry says with a heavy sigh, the weight of the trip wearing him down, and he doesn’t know what to do. It’s easier to stay at home and just be themselves, blocking out the world. It’s nice when Harry doesn’t have to face the concerned gazes and unspoken words. But only when he’s about to say more, he hears a scream from the other side of the house.

Harry’s up in an instant, through the door and rushing towards his Louis, knowing undoubtedly that’s it’s due to him. He gasps at the sight before him, Louis on the floor, blood gushing from his hairline as he seizes on the floor.

“He fell! Oh, God!” Lottie is crying out at Harry, but he’s already at Louis’ side, rolling him on his side, able to see that this is a bad one. Louis’ eyes are rolling back, tongue dangling as though he’s not there at all, and Harry can only hold onto him, ride it out. But the gushing wound is what has him turning to Lottie, face grim when he speaks.

“Call emergency,” he says tersely, frustrated and annoyed with himself for having left Louis to his own defenses.

Deep down, he’d already thought the trip would take its toll, and with all the seizures, it was proving itself in its true form. Lottie’s on her mobile immediately, Harry’s barely listening, and he glances to see Niall holding Louis’ other hand. He rubs his free hand on the man’s trembling hip, fear filling his features, and for once, he doesn’t have it in him to hide how concerned he is. It’s only a few minutes but feels much longer when Louis begins to relax. He knew the seizures were worse but still thought the trip would be manageable. But as he stares down at Louis’ blinking eyes, Harry wants to run away from it all, wholly blaming himself.

“Hey,” Harry says, leaning close and holds his hand over his wound now, able to focus on it instead of the seizure. Louis tries to move, but Harry shushes him, staying bent over him so he can see him close. “Don’t. No. Not yet.”

“Har--,” he starts to speak, but it’s as though the words are too heavy on his tongue, like he’s too tired to talk. Harry imagines the seizure was the worst he’s seen so far, and he doesn’t want to exert Louis, even if he didn’t have the wound on his forehead.

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” Harry says gently, beginning to hum Louis’ favorite song to keep him calm and relaxed. Still, tears fill his eyes, and Harry can see he doesn’t understand what’s happening around him. “Niall’s here too,” Harry whispers, and Niall leans close so Louis can see them both. There’s recognition in his eyes, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t even try.

Harry wants to lean away, so Louis can’t see the look on his face, but he doesn’t. He knows Louis needs him to stay in his vision, anything to help him stay calm. Harry hears the response team arrive but doesn’t pull away until they’ve ushered him to the side.

When he’s not in his view anymore, Louis starts to cry and tries to move and get up. Harry keeps humming the song. Eventually, Louis complies with them, allowing them to tend to the wound and strap him onto the stretcher. They’re trying to talk to Harry about what is happening but then go to Lottie to explain the situation.

Niall gives Harry’s arm a squeeze. Harry looks at him for the first time since they were on the porch. He doesn’t know what to say as he follows the emergency team outside, towards the vehicle, taking Louis to his most hated place. Harry knows he needs to ride along and grabs the necessary paperwork before following out the door, proving he’s the advocate.

“I’ll meet you there,” Niall says, and Harry nods tersely. He glances back to see the family huddling on the porch, fear etched over too many features.

“Talk to them first. Make them wait here,” Harry says, getting in the vehicle to hold Louis’ hand and keep him calm.

He knows that they won’t obey, but it’s an effort to take care of Louis how he needs and requires. He won’t want everyone hovering over him, especially not in a hospital. Harry knows they just need to run a scan and bandage the wound, just like the last time he fell, but it’s terrifying all the same.

When they arrive at the hospital, Harry isn’t sure what’s happening. The doctors ask more questions than usual, wanting to know about the impressive seizure and how Louis hit his head. Niall is at his side, explaining at the same time while Louis gets his head scan. They want to ensure there’s no damage from his fall, but it’s worse when they send a social worker.

It's then that Harry understands. They think he’s not caring for Louis as he requires. They want to know why he didn’t have his cane or walker, why he had no implements to keep him from tumbling. They continue to ask, considering Louis had been around for the same type of injury just a month or two prior. It hurts, and he’s aching when Louis returns to him, feeling so strongly for the man that isn’t his own self anymore.

“Harry,” Louis says when they’re left alone, Niall outside the door with the staff. Harry holds Louis’ hand and rubs his thumb against the back as he sighs deeply, wishing he felt comfort in Louis’ intense gaze. “Harry,” he repeats when he’s not responded.

“I’m here,” he whispers, feeling more emotional than he feels he should. “I’m not going anywhere. Niall is here, too.”

“I know,” Louis says with a precision that Harry’s not used to. He looks up and really sees the old Louis staring at him, unfamiliar clarity in his eyes, and it’s all Harry can do not to gasp at the sight.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently, praying that this lasts for more than the few seconds it usually does. But then tears fill Louis’ eyes, and he feels he’s losing him all over again.

“It’s okay,” Louis says suddenly, and Harry stands, coming to stand at his side, wishing he could crawl in next to him at that moment. “It’s okay to do what they say.”

“Who says?” he asks because he’s confused when Louis is trying to say. Louis releases a groan of frustration through his tears, and he hears it in a way he hasn’t heard in so long.

“The doctors,” he says, voice softer now, but his gaze is bright and clear. His deep orbs bore into Harry, and he has to look away because he understands what Louis is trying to say.

“I’m not giving you up,” he whispers, sucking in a breath when Louis tugs at his hand as though begging him to look up again. He does, though, because Louis wants him to, meeting his face once more.

“You have to,” Louis says, and then his gaze is shifting. His legs are wriggling on the bed, and he’s getting anxious. He wants to leave.

“Lou,” Harry speaks, voice filling with pain at the thought of losing him again. “Lou,” he repeats, but Louis is gone, back to the boy he knows so well.

“I tired,” he whispers, wiping at his face where the tears had fallen, but he’s not crying anymore. “Hazza, is it my party yet?”

“No,” Harry shakes his head, wondering if they should even do it at all. But he knows Louis will be devastatingly poor if they don’t. “Not until tomorrow.”

He doesn’t say more, and Harry doesn’t try. The door opens, and he looks up to see a nurse entering, the materials on her cart necessary to stitch Louis’s wound up where the makeshift bandage was still in place. Harry holds Louis’ hand through it all, the other hand holding his head still. Louis does well, only two stitches have to be redone, and it’s easier than the last time.

Eventually, Niall returns, his face grim as he enters the room and doesn’t say anything. He just sits as Harry holds Louis’ hand, glancing between the two while Louis drifts to sleep. Harry can’t stop thinking about what Louis spoke when clear and how much his chest aches at that moment. When Louis drifts off, he pulls away, moving to sit beside the silent Niall.

“They talked to Louis’ doctor in the states,” he says, and Harry nods, having given them the information to call, “They’re going to talk to you.”

Harry doesn’t like the sound of that but nods to show he understands. Niall isn’t saying something, and Harry opens his mouth to ask when the door opens again. The doctor steps in with the social worker, shutting the door firmly behind them. Louis shifts but doesn’t wake, and Harry feels relief at that moment.

The doctor begins to speak, and Harry doesn’t understand at first. He’s lost in the words, the meaning, the intent of it all. As the seconds pass, realization hits. Louis can’t go home yet. He can leave the hospital, but he can’t fly. There’s damage from the seizure, his scan worse than the one just weeks prior. Harry can’t breathe as he takes in what they’re trying to tell him. They can’t go home.

There are recommendations, homes, assisted living, caregivers, but Harry doesn’t want to hear any of it because he’s always been the one to take care of Louis. He’s been at his side since the accident and can’t bear the thought of anything changing. He’s not ready for it, and he’s panicking before he realizes what’s happening. His head in between his knees, Niall rubbing his back as he struggles to regain composure and respond accordingly.

In the end, the staff members leave them with the information, the notes, pictures of the scans, and most importantly, the calls to Dr. Roberson, and it’s all right there. Louis isn’t Louis anymore. He’s not going to be Louis ever again, and though Harry knows this is coming, he can’t face the reality of it all. He wants to run, to hide, but Louis needs him to pretend to be strong, as though he can handle it all.

It's late in the evening when they receive the discharge paperwork and the information on where to pick up Louis’ new wheelchair. As predicted, it’s not for all the time use, not yet anyway. Niall does the talk while Harry focuses on Louis, wheeling him out to Niall’s car and not allowing the staff to do it. If anything, Harry needs this, to know he can still be there for Louis like he requires.

And Louis barely says a word throughout the evening, as though he knows what’s happening, but, deep down, Harry knows he doesn’t. He puts him in the front seat, his favorite spot, and sits in the back while Niall drives them back to Louis’ mother’s house. Harry expects Niall to leave, but he stays, helps him get Louis ready for bed, listens as Harry explains the various nighttime medications and what they’re for. He stands beside him when he feels like falling apart.

“Is he asleep?” Niall asks after a long while of Harry watching Louis drift off. Harry nods, and Niall’s good hand comes to rest against his arm, and Harry knows what’s coming. He has to explain it all to the family, but he feels the assurance, Niall’s going to be there during it all.

Harry walks down the stairs, feeling the dread of the conversation. They’d all come to the hospital in various intervals, but Harry didn’t say much at the time, needing the space to care for Louis. He’s practically shaking when he enters where they’re waiting in the living area. They watch him enter, and Harry holds a breath in, wishing he has something better to say. His mother pats the open seat beside her, but he shakes his head, knowing it’s easier to stand for this, Niall’s hand still holding his arm.

“This isn’t good news,” Harry starts, knowing it’s simpler, in this case, to be straightforward. Angry tears fill his eyes, and he doesn’t know how to handle it. “Um, so the seizure was bad, worse than he’s ever had. There’s damage.”

Jay’s eyes fill with tears that match Harry’s, and when his own begin to slip down his cheeks, he doesn’t try to wipe them away. He clears his throat, trying to speak in a consistent voice, but can feel how much he’s falling apart. Closing his eyes, he tries to fathom how to word this all, how to make it make sense when he's still lost in the revelation.

“We, um, we can’t go home,” he says softly, “Doctors don’t think he could handle the trip right now, so we’re going to be here a while.” His voice trembles and his mother stands, coming over to him and holding his free hand. He looks to her and shakes his head, “There’s nothing more to be done.”

“What do you mean?” she asks softly, wanting him to elaborate, but he doesn’t want to say the words, to admit that he’s failing.

“They want him with a center, a type of assisted living,” he explains with the ache he’s been feeling for years but finally allowing it to etch into his tone. “It’s over. They say it’s too much for me to do on my own.”

Niall’s grip on him is tight, and he closes his eyes, sinking to the floor. Without holding back, he begins to cry. It’s slow at first but then begins to openly sob, every broken piece of him coming to the surface, finding its way there now that he can no longer hide. Niall and his mother are there, but he can barely feel them, not over the pain and devastation he feels. And once again, Harry doesn’t know if it’s worth it because Louis is beyond him. No longer can he pretend that Louis is okay. He’ll never be okay again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

> Check out my Twitter for story updates and sneak peeks!


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